


The Resistance

by Gia279



Series: Human Monsters [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Activism, Alive Hale Family, BAMF!Derek, BAMF!Stiles, Blood, Dystopia, Everyone's pretty badass, F/M, Fighting, Guns, I think it'd be called dystopian, Kinda Slow Build, Kitsune, Knives, M/M, No Hale Fire, Sabotage, Scotty Ships It, Stiles has Relations with other characters briefly and it's never explicitly described, Supernaturals are known, Vampires, Violence, Witches, and for once Peter isn't fuckin any shit up, dystopian au, fighting for a cause, idk my brain, mostly it's fighting and missions and stuff, occasionally there are feral werewolves, or dystopia?, scientist!Lydia, scientist!Peter, supernatural rights, werewolf rights, werewolves are known
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-10-20 11:59:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 87,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10662135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gia279/pseuds/Gia279
Summary: “Seriously, don’t do that,” Stiles advised.While the hunter was wondering what to make of his suggestion, he shoved the barrel of her gun toward the ceiling and struck her throat, then shoved her to the floor. He aimed his own gun at her head and could haveswornhe heard Derek sigh from the back of the group.He gritted his teeth and knocked her out instead. As if permanent brain damage was any better.





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I'll be updating this **every other Wednesday** until I have more of a head start. It's long, and I don't know, really, how long it'll be right at this moment. I just got too excited to wait to post! So, I thought, well, I'll see how people like the first chapter! I have seventeen ish chapters written right now! 
> 
> The wonderful, patient [kc-is-here-again](http://kc-is-here-again.tumblr.com/) is beta'ing for me, despite my weird babbling and bad spacing habits. <3 Thank you so much!
> 
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> 
> **Also, this fic is ?? sort of my way of dealing with current events rn through the scope of a fanfic about vampires and werewolves and kitsune...**
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> 
> **Edit 2/4/18: Changed title to The Resistance from Sick of It. This is still the first in the series, I just liked the way this sounded better. Sorry for any confusion that may have caused!**

**Prologue**

Getting inside was easy for a human. It was a fault the organization had and one they would likely fix soon, so they had to utilize it. As long as your body didn’t react to silver or wolfsbane, you were pretty much in. Claudia only had to incapacitate two nightshift guards on her way to the stairwell.

The Organization for the Welfare of Humankind operated mainly during the day. That was for appearances, to keep on the good side of their ‘humans first’ sympathizers—the ones funding them, anyway. Anything that seemed even slightly inhuman to them—working at night was apparently deemed ‘lupine’—could be pointed at and used for a reason to pull their funding.

Claudia figured that was another flaw of theirs; they weren’t willing to alienate a few rich old guys by working in the night. 

Working _busily_ in the night, anyway. They didn’t halt all work simply because the sun went down. They just did it more subtly. 

She kept her eyes open for anything useful as she passed the different floors. She needed to get the very top, so she wasn’t all too concerned with the different signs.

At the top floor, she checked for inhabitants; there was one guard doing a sweep. She waited in the stairwell, holding her breath as he walked the floor.

He nodded to himself when he’d given the whole room a cursory scan and, duty done, circled back to the elevator.

There were a few computers in the room—they looked sort of like workstations, actually—with file cabinets and tables spread throughout. She searched the file cabinets and found information about strands of wolfsbane and different weapons they were developing. She tucked the papers into her waistband and pulled her shirt and hoodie over it. They might be useful, even if they were outdated.

She went to the nearest computer and checked if it was on; when she found it was, she plugged in the flash drive Peter had given her. She doubted everything they were looking for would be on this or any other computer in this room, but this is what Talia had asked her to do, so she did it. 

The computer beeped. 

Whatever Peter had done to it didn’t look good for the computer. Claudia removed the drive and put it in her pocket. 

She surveyed the room and nodded to herself; over by the window would work.

She crossed and crouched below the glass, pulling out the gear she’d been carrying in her backpack. While she set it up, she thought about her son and husband. After this was done, she was taking time off fieldwork. Just so she could see them some more. John would be pleased. He’d wanted her to take time off since Stiles was born. She figured four years was putting it off long enough. She sat back on her heels and adjusted the timer. She had fifteen minutes to get out before the bomb went off. 

It wasn’t a huge bomb; the explosion would be noisy and destructive, just enough to draw the attention of the staff so she could get out and away from the building. 

She started the timer and left the room quickly, hustling down the stairs with more speed than stealth. It was fortunate that she heard them at all, really, considering: three male voices, two floors below her. She swallowed and backed up, feeling for a doorknob until she found it and twisted, stepping back and closing it once she was inside. She let out a breath, turned, and found herself face-to-face with a man in a lab coat. 

His brows furrowed. “Who-” he began sharply.

Claudia struck his throat, then sucker punched him when he was still choking. She left him unconscious and stepped around him.

She frowned and looked around. It looked like she’d stepped from an OWH building to a hospital. There was even a reception desk, though it didn’t contain a computer, just piles of notebooks and glass jars. Plenty of doors lined the hall, but most of them were open, which didn't interest her. The closed ones, however, caught her attention. 

She pulled her knife out and approached the first closed door, peering through the window cautiously. She recoiled with a gasp, one hand covering her mouth in horror. 

A half-shifted werewolf lay on the floor in a puddle of mixed black bile and blood, sickly pale and very obviously dead. 

She ran to the next closed room and found another dead werewolf. This one was covered in black poison lines and painful-looking burns where wires were attached to his limbs. 

The third room had a teenager in it, strung up in silver chains against a vertical slab, dead and covered in burn marks. No black bile or lines—no wolfsbane. 

She could have stopped there—should have, really, she only had ten minutes before the bomb went off—but she felt she had to, she had to check. So she went to the fourth room, braced for horror. 

A werewolf child this time, chained on an upright bed with wires attached to his skinny sides, chin on his chest. 

Claudia felt tears fill her eyes, a sob sputtering to her lips. 

Then his thin chest rose and fell with a breath.

“Oh!” She fumbled with the door until it opened, blessedly unlocked. 

The boy whined and cringed, pulling weakly against the manacles on his wrists to try to shy away from the door. 

Claudia looked around and found a switchboard. She twisted the dial on the right hand side all the way to the left, where it read **OFF**. She looked over her shoulder to check the boy.

“Blue,” he slurred, trying to lift his head.

She slapped the blue switch off and heard him sigh. She rushed to his side and started freeing his wrists, using her shoulder to brace him as he slipped halfway down. They hadn’t bothered with anything complicated, so the locks were easy enough to pick.

“Can you walk?” she asked urgently. The answer didn’t matter. She’d carry him out if she had to.

The boy finally managed to lift his head. Claudia’s heart squeezed. 

“Derek? You’re Derek Hale, right?” she demanded. He looked different than she remembered, sick and thin, his eyes sunken. 

“Yes,” he gasped, letting her lower him to the floor.

Claudia couldn’t help dropping to the floor with him, clamping her arms around him and kissing the top of his sweaty head.

Derek Hale had been missing for three months. He was the eight-year-old son of the Alpha of Claudia’s faction and a fairly close friend, Talia Hale. They suspected he’d been killed after the first month. After the second, they’d all but given up.

“Come on, baby, I’m getting you out of here.”

He stood when she pulled him up; he was pale and thin, but steady on his feet. The burns from the wires were already healing.

“They kept notes,” he said quietly. 

“Where?”

He pointed; there was a file basket on the wall beside the door, a sick imitation of the ones in hospital rooms. 

Claudia grabbed the file and tucked it in with the rest that she’d grabbed. “We have to go fast, I’m sorry, but you can rest once we’re away from here. Okay?”

Derek nodded solemnly. “Okay.”

Claudia took his hand and pulled gently. The hall was empty but for the unconscious man Claudia had left on the floor. Derek gave him a wide berth, practically clinging to her leg as they went into the stairwell.

“If anyone comes, stay behind me, okay?” she said. “Take this, but be careful. I can’t heal if you get me on accident,” she said with a quick smile. She held a knife out to him. 

He nodded. 

She hoped he couldn’t tell how scared she was, but she suspected he could hear her heart pounding as easily as she could hear their footsteps on the linoleum stairs. Derek’s feet were bare, poor kid. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, either. 

“When we get outside, run to the bushes to the right immediately, Derek. As fast as you can, don’t look back. I’ll catch up.”

“Where do I wait for you?” he whispered. 

Claudia reached back and squeezed his shoulder. “You wait for five minutes in the bushes, as far away as you can. If I don’t meet you in five minutes, you go find Mission Street. It’s close by, you’ll find it easily.” 

“But-”

“No buts,” she said firmly. “Mission Street, the dark blue SUV. You go to it and tell them who you are. In fact…” She stopped just before the last set of stairs. “Here. Hold onto these for me. So I can fight,” she added when he hesitated. She held out the files and the drive. “Just put them in your pockets and give them to the drivers at the checkpoint.” 

“Why can’t you?” he asked, putting his hands behind his back.

“I just want you to hold them for me just in case anyone comes. Derek,” she said sharply, “we don’t have time. Take them.”

He took them and did as she said, fitting everything into his pants pockets. 

“Good. Here, put this on.” Claudia stripped off her hoodie and dropped it over his head before he could argue. 

She opened the door at the bottom of the stairs and jumped back when the muzzle of a gun pointed her way. She took a breath and grabbed the barrel in the same second, yanked it down, and punched the guard in the face as the force pulled her forward.

The guard sputtered over the blood from her broken nose; Claudia took her gun and slammed the butt of it against her temple. 

Derek pressed himself back against the wall when she turned around.

“What’s wrong?”

“That has wolfsbane in it,” he said, eyeing the gun warily.

“It won’t hurt you.” She put the strap over her shoulders and leaned out into the hallway. “Come on, it’s clear.” She was probably imagining the loud ticking noises, but knowing that didn’t make her any less stressed. 

The bomb wasn’t enough to injure them on the ground floor, but it would be enough to get them caught in the crossfire if the outside guards came running in. Claudia held the front door open for Derek and together they ran across the lot; four yards out, the stamp of running boots caught up to them.

“Go on,” she ordered, turning Derek forcefully toward the bushes. “I’ll catch up.” 

There were ten; she shot two before the other eight crowded in and grabbed her; one of them snatched the gun from her. She wasn’t great with firearms, much to John’s chagrin, so she wasn’t put out losing it. 

She jerked her arm free and pulled her knives out, backing up and coaxing them away from the light. 

One of the men stepped in first, swiping at her right hand to try to knock the knife away; she twisted her arm and slashed, laying open the skin of his wrist, and struck at his throat with the other blade. She pulled it out and dodged around his falling body to get to the next one. 

His fist clipped her jaw, knocking her back a step and landing a kick to her right thigh that made her stumble. She let herself fall and rolled, getting to her knees and stabbing him in his upper thigh, then dragging the knife as far as she could before he yelped and backhanded her. She dug her other knife into his arm, using it to pull herself to her feet. She yanked both knives free and punched him in the nose. She kicked him while he was unsteady, knocking him flat on his back. 

Two of them rushed at her at once; she dodged around one of them and cut his throat. She kept her hand on his shoulder as he bled out and gripped the back of his jacket, using his body as a shield when the others turned on her with their guns raised. A third rammed into her from the side, knocking her knives out of her hands. Claudia grabbed her Taser from her belt, flipped it on, and drove it hard into the skin of the guard’s neck. He went down twitching. 

An explosion rocked the ground; firelight illuminated the bodies Claudia had dropped. The remaining five turned toward the noise; Claudia Tased two while they were still distracted and tried to run for the bushes.

She pulled up short when a woman stepped in front of her. 

“Victoria,” she said. “Do you personally come to all of the little offices like this?” she asked in mock surprise. “Or was this one special because they were torturing kids?”

Victoria Argent shook her head. “Go make sure Dr. Antigo is okay,” she said to the remaining guards. 

Claudia flexed her hand on her Taser. She didn’t think it had enough charge for another fight.

“I’m not armed,” Victoria said calmly, tipping her head. “And I don’t think you are, either.”

“Is that what you think?” Claudia smiled. “Why don’t you come find out for yourself?”

Victoria considered, before darting forward and grabbing Claudia’s shoulder, slamming her face down into her knee before she could retaliate.

“Fast for a human,” Claudia managed, spitting blood and grabbing Victoria’s arm. She kicked the back of her knee while Victoria slammed her heel down on Claudia’s instep. 

Victoria fell; Claudia did not.

She wrenched Victoria’s arm back hard, aiming to dislocate it; she hooked her foot around Claudia’s ankle and unbalanced her enough to get free. Claudia smashed her elbow into her nose, then punched her across the face.

Victoria plowed her fist into her gut, doubling her over as she gagged. She grabbed a handful of Claudia’s hair and yanked her head back, arching her neck. She saw the flash of light off the knife blade and reared up, smashing the back of her head against Victoria’s elbow, knocking the knife off track. She saw stars, but it didn’t matter: she got her hands around Victoria’s hand and twisted until she heard the crunch and grind of bone in her wrist.

Victoria grunted and hissed with pain, falling to her knees only when Claudia kicked her. 

“You had a _little boy_ in there,” Claudia snarled. “You call my side animals?” She spit more blood out. “You’re wrong.” She stomped her boot on Victoria’s injured wrist, satisfied when it snapped. 

Victoria choked off a scream. 

Claudia said, “If I had time, I would kill you.” She turned and ran for the bushes, praying Derek had already gone. She’d only made it three yards when two shots rang out, something hot striking her back and making her body jerk, then collapse, her legs going numb.

 

Derek saw her jolt and hit the concrete. He pressed his knuckles against his lips to keep from crying out. The scent of blood was already heavy from the fight, so he couldn’t smell hers, but he knew what that sound was, and he knew what it meant when someone fell like that. 

He sat shivering, hidden in his hunkered down position, while the hunters came out and picked up the bodies. Tears ran unchecked and silent down his cheeks. 

He could hear them talking.

“Bodies are bad for business.” They were laughing when they said it, loading bodies up onto a cart while the woman Miss Claudia called “Victoria” was looked at by the guy that pretended to be a doctor.

Derek knew him. He’d been the one to adjust the settings on the machine that sent electricity burning through his body. Some days (Spaghetti Tuesdays, if the smell of pasta was any indication) he turned it very, very low and asked Derek questions. He was ashamed to say he didn’t really remember the questions or the answers he’d given, if any. 

He waited, counting to three hundred before he managed to make himself move. He unbent his cramped legs and checked his pockets for the items Miss Claudia had given to him. He recognized her from the bunker, from meetings with his mother he’d snuck to. She was always nice to him. She had a little boy who was Cora’s age. They followed Laura around together with another boy. 

He wiped the tears from his cheeks and started walking.

 

To say the people waiting to pick up Miss Claudia were surprised to see an eight-year-old, previously-missing boy instead of a trained field operative would be an understatement. They didn’t ask any more questions after the first two: “Where’s Claudia?” and “What’s your name?”

They loaded him into the back of the SUV and gave him granola bars and bottled water for the drive. He ate and drank and stretched out on the floor of the SUV, closing his eyes. They flew back open when Claudia’s shocked expression the moment she got shot flashed across his eyelids. 

 

It was near dawn when they reached the bunker. 

 

Mom cried when she saw him. So did Dad. Uncle Peter was happy, but more interested in the stuff Miss Claudia had given to him. That was okay. He was the only one who was acting normal; Derek stuck close to him until Mom pried him away. They invited Derek to come with to tell Mr. Stilinski what happened. He didn’t want to, but he said he would anyway. 

Their little boy was there, eating dry cereal and crackers at his little kid table while Mom repeated everything Derek had told her.

Mr. Stilinski’s eyes watered as he listened. He cleared his throat and nodded a little. “Ahem. Okay. Okay.” He rubbed his face. “Okay. We’re leaving now.” He looked at his son. “We’re leaving today. We’ll go back to my hometown.” 

Mom looked alarmed. “John, if you leave, we can’t protect you-”

“No. No. I’ve already given my wife to this cause, I won’t give my son, too.” He got up and walked away, misery in every line of his body, every scent Derek caught from him. “Claudia gave her life, but I won’t let him do the same.” He scrubbed his face as tears tracked down his cheeks.

Mom got up to follow him. “John, he doesn’t have to, but at least stay. Doesn’t Stiles deserve to know the cause his mother died for?” She sighed quietly. “You’ll be safe here. We can protect you.” 

The little boy looked up at the sound of his name. He smiled at Derek’s father and stuffed a cracker in his mouth.

“Fine,” Mr. Stilinski said tiredly. “We’ll stay. But Stiles won’t be doing field work. Neither will I.” 

“Not everyone does field work, you know that. He can work in the lab with Peter, or in the infirmary or anywhere he wants in the bunker,” Mom said soothingly. “There’s no reason for him to ever go on field missions.”

They left Mr. Stilinski to tell his son about Miss Claudia and to grieve on his own. Derek stuck close to Mom and couldn’t quite meet Mr. Stilinski’s eyes when he dully thanked him for telling them what happened. 

If Claudia hadn’t stopped to help him, she probably would have been able to get away. He’d slowed her down.

He fingered the hoodie he was wearing guiltily. It was Miss Claudia’s. It even still smelled like her. He should’ve given it back. He glanced over his shoulder. Maybe tomorrow. 

 

**Chapter One—20 Years Later**

Stiles lowered the guard’s body to the floor, glancing over his shoulder to be sure his surprised shout hadn’t brought anyone running. He wiped his knife on the guard’s pants before putting it back in its sheath and straightened up.

Someone shoved him, hard, through the door he’d been about to go through. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

Stiles spun around. “Wrong with _me?_ ” he snapped. “I’m not the one shoving, Derek.”

He scowled. “Then explain yourself. We can’t be leaving a trail of _bodies_. This is supposed to be a quick mission.”

“What was I supposed to do, let him go get help?” Stiles shoved Derek back a step.

“You could have knocked him out.”

“Why? That would have taken longer and been louder. We aren’t _all_ superfast and strong, asshole.” 

“Be quiet,” Laura ordered. “Cora and Erica are patrolling the halls. You two stay here. Do not let anyone past this door.” She and Scott crossed the room and threw open the double doors.

Stiles crossed his arms and leaned against the metal cart in the middle of the room. 

Derek scowled right back at him and turned away to investigate the cabinets lining the walls. Most of them were empty; one had a box of rubber gloves and some face masks in it.

Stiles tapped his fingers against the sides of his vest anxiously. They were all required to wear Kevlar, bulletproof vests, on missions, to prevent at least _some_ injuries and casualties, if they got caught. 

Derek slammed the last cabinet. “You can’t just kill everyone who gets in your way,” he snapped. 

“Oh my god. Let it go. The guy is dead. You think I _like_ killing people?”

“I think you’re lazy, actually.” 

Stiles straightened from his slouch indignantly. “ _Lazy?_ ” he repeated furiously. “I’ll give you lazy, you-”

“Shut-up!” Laura snarled in their earpieces. 

“Found her. Coming out now,” Scott said quietly. 

Stiles grabbed the metal cart and centered it; Derek got the door for them. 

Scott and Laura came out, supporting a young woman between them. 

“This is definitely her,” Scott said, lifting the girl onto the cart while Stiles held it steady.

“I’m checking the picture anyway.” Laura pulled out the photo of the missing kitsune they’d been sent to retrieve, tilting the woman’s face back so she could compare. “Yeah, that’s her.” 

Scott broke something and held it under her nose until she gasped her way into consciousness, her arms lashing out in panic.

Stiles caught her wrists and pinned them down gently.

“It’s okay,” Laura said soothingly. “The Pack sent us to get you. We’re taking you home.”

Scott was doing a quick examination, running a small light across her line of vision, softly asking if she was hurt anywhere.

“I can walk,” she said quietly. 

Stiles let go of her hands.

“Incoming,” Cora said, and swore. “They’ve noticed the system locks are down.”

Derek sneered, “What, and no one noticed the bodies?”

“Would you let that go?” Stiles snapped, spinning to face him. 

Laura grabbed his vest and dragged him to the door. “Save it. We have to get out of here first.” 

“Yeah, fine,” he muttered. “I’ll go out first?”

Derek scoffed.

Laura ignored him. “Yes. Clear a path. Derek can bring up the rear. Cora, meet us in the hall and keep your area as clear as you can. Erica?”

“Y _es_ ma’ _am._ ”

Laura rolled her eyes. “Did you bring those smoke bombs Lydia made?”

“Of course.”

“Get them ready. Once you see the back of Der’s head, you set them off and catch up.” 

“You got it.”

Laura helped the kitsune off the metal cart. “Stiles, now.”

There were only two guards in their part of the hall. Stiles took one of their guns, got an elbow to the jaw, and knocked the weaponless guard out with his own weapon. 

He licked the blood from his lip and advanced on the remaining guard.

She jerked her gun up, taking aim. 

“Seriously, don’t do that,” Stiles advised.

While she was wondering what to make of his suggestion, he shoved the barrel of her gun toward the ceiling and struck her throat, then shoved her to the floor. He aimed at her head and could have _sworn_ he heard Derek sigh from the back.

He gritted his teeth and knocked her out instead. As if permanent brain damage was any better. 

There were about twelve guards where Cora was, but between the two of them and occasional help from Laura, they managed to clear the area for Scott, the kitsune, and Derek. 

“They don’t know what floor we’re on,” Cora said. “They spread out. Remind me to thank Danny when we get home.” She broke a guard’s neck and dropped him. “Come on, stairs are clear. We jammed all the doors between the floors.”

Derek didn’t scold _Cora_ for killing a guard.

Stiles and Cora took the lead. Behind them, he could hear the crack and bang of Lydia’s unique smoke bombs, followed by the stamp of Erica’s boots. Cora took the stairs two at a time in front of Stiles, so she reached the door first and kicked it open. Judging by the surprised yell and gunshot, she’d thrown the door into someone. 

“Very nice,” Stiles said, and heard her laugh through the earpiece. 

“Try to go through the front. If it’s too clogged, there’s an emergency exit in the west hall, but it’ll set off the fire alarm,” Laura said.

“Okay. We should—Whoa.” 

Stiles pulled back when he heard a gunshot, gesturing frantically at Scott and Laura. “Wait, let us clear the way, keep her back.” 

“Derek, go with. Erica, stay with us.”

Erica sighed loudly.

Derek launched himself into the open, taking down two guards with him. 

Stiles shook his head and joined the fray, pulling out his knives. Derek could scold him all he wanted _after_ people stopped trying to kill them. 

One of the assailants was clearly not hired muscle, but a real hunter, dressed in black cargos and carrying wolfsbane and gleaming silver weapons. Stiles made sure to step in her path.

“Hey.” He grinned and waggled his knife. “Wanna trade?”

She sneered at him and lashed out; he jumped back and ducked her next hit, still grinning. “I cut two of your kind in half not two hours ago, boy. Alphas. You think I’m afraid of a kid?”

“You should be,” he said, ignoring the quick twist in his stomach. He wondered who she’d killed.

Alpha Ito? Santos?

But he’d have heard if it were them. Their packs would have sent word instantly.

“You’re not even a ’wolf,” the hunter said with surprise when her knife glanced off his arm without leaving a burn around the cut.

“Not for lack of trying,” he said agreeably, and slammed his elbow into her nose with a satisfying crunch. 

He grabbed her knife and stabbed it into the side of her neck while she was still sputtering. 

He looked up to see Derek glowering at him from across the room. “Fuck off-” he began, and got punched in the mouth.

It took them ten more minutes to get out of the building; Erica set off three of Lydia’s smoke bombs after Stiles was outside. 

The smoke didn’t bother werewolves in the least, or even most supernaturals, but it confused humans, made them disoriented and basically useless. 

Stiles had experienced its effects before. Lydia was an evil genius. 

“Where’s the van?” Stiles demanded, using his sleeve to stem the blood from his nose. He waved Scott away. “’m fine.”

“It’s on Dickerson,” Laura replied. “Three blocks east. Come on, before the smoke clears.”

Scott had left the kitsune with Laura to check if Stiles’s nose was broken again. 

“I’m fine. Check Cora. Or Derek! He got grazed,” Stiles said, shoving him toward Derek. 

“With a bullet?” Scott squawked. 

Stiles grinned at Derek over his head while Scott ignored Derek’s protests. 

“My name is Kira,” the girl said suddenly.

Stiles looked at her. “We know. We told you, they sent us to find you.”

“I’ve never met any of you before.”

“Yeah, but Alpha Santos got word that they’d moved you somewhere closer to us, so we were sent.”

She nodded, dropping her gaze. “Have you heard any news about my parents?”

Laura squeezed her arm. “Yes. They’re on their way to our base.”

Kira pressed her hand to her mouth as tears started rolling down her cheeks. “Sorry, I’m sorry. I just—I thought they’d died.”

Laura smiled. “No, they didn’t.”

They made it to the van quickly; Stiles was impressed. They’d built in extra time in case Kira was too injured to walk or move quickly, so they were ahead of schedule.

Their drivers, Heather and Danielle, were pleasantly surprised, too.

“No casualties on our side,” Laura reported, climbing into the front seat.

Scott cornered everyone in the back of the van to do a more thorough check for injuries. He dragged his field bag out from under the bench behind him and opened it, taking out some scissors. He cut the arm of Derek’s shirt open and wiped the wound. 

Stiles leaned his head back against the side panel of the van, listening to Scott poke and prod at Derek’s wounded arm, asking him if anything was burning or numb. 

“You’re gonna get in trouble,” Cora commented.

“Me?” he demanded, his eyes popping open indignantly. “Why me?”

“Mom wanted you to bring in the next hunter alive.” She shrugged. “She won’t be too mad, but she said they wanted to find out where they’re holding the missing Halman pack.”

Stiles shook his head. “That one wouldn’t have talked anyway.” He leaned his head back again and patted the gun he’d taken. “I got some wolfsbane bullets for them to play with at the lab, at least.”

“At least,” Cora agreed, letting her head droop on his shoulder. 

 

When they reached the bunker, they let Heather and Danielle take Kira inside while they stripped off Kevlar and weapons. 

Laura grabbed Derek’s vest and yanked him forward as soon as the three were out of earshot.

Scott and Stiles paused, half their gear hanging off.

“You need to pay better attention to what _you’re_ doing,” she snarled. “I’m the lead of this team and _I_ give the orders. Don’t worry about what Stiles is doing in the field.”

Derek looked mutinous. “But he-”

“He killed under _my_ orders.”

Stiles smirked, smug, when Derek flicked a quick glance his way. 

“Just focus on your orders, Der,” she said, easing back. “I know it’s a hard habit to break, but-”

“Whatever,” he snarled, shoving around her to strip off his gear.

Scott glanced worriedly after him; Cora lifted her hand with a sigh and followed him. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” Laura snapped. “I can’t have him contradicting my orders, especially not in the field. We’re lucky he chose to pick at Stiles instead of anyone else. We all know Stiles won’t listen.” She unclipped her vest with quick, annoyed jerks.

“He can’t help it,” Scott said tentatively.

Erica snorted. “No, he can’t. He’s been following Scott, Cora, and Stiles around their whole lives, smacking their hands before they could reach into the cookie jar every time they tried. He’s not gonna stop now.” 

“Comparing killing to cookies is gross,” Stiles said, grimacing.

“Same concept.” Erica shrugged. “Is Talia meeting us out here?”

“No, she’ll be inside. Come on.” Laura flipped her vest and belt over her arm. “Cora, Derek, we’ll meet you in Mom’s office!” she called.

“Okay!” Cora replied.

Base was a well defended bunker where Talia Hale’s faction of the organization known simply as the Pack operated. Stiles had been born and raised there, like most of the families there. 

The ongoing fight between hunters and werewolves had spanned a couple generations. 

Stiles’s _grandparents_ had worked here with Cora’s grandparents. 

The Pack had been about giving safety to hunted supernaturals back then. After that, it was showing the general public that they were people, too. And now it was rescuing kidnapped supernaturals and figuring out what the OWH was trying to accomplish with their seemingly nonsensical experiments. 

Talia was waiting for them in the hall rather than her office. “I figured you’d be hungry. Dinner finished up an hour ago, but we had some stuff reheated for you when Heather let us know you were on your way.” 

“Where’s Kira?” Scott asked.

“In the infirmary, being seen to by your mother. Her parents are there, too.” She smiled briefly, then went to the double doors further down the hall and opened the cafeteria. “Come on.”

The cafeteria was an optional place to eat—families had their own kitchens in their respective homes within the bunker—but it was sure convenient for nights like these.

Stiles grabbed and loaded up a plate, dropping onto the bench. He grinned when Scott sat beside him, nudging his knee with his boot.

Scott smiled back, looking relaxed finally. 

Laura talked to Talia while everyone else gathered at the table to eat.

Another group came in with Talia’s husband, Ian, and sat at another table while he talked to them; Cora slipped in behind the group.

“Okay, what’s with the soft missions?” Laura demanded. “You _know_ we’re capable of more, so what’s going on?”

Talia’s reply was quiet and firm. “We’re strategizing. Rescue and recovery is more important right now than anything else. We just set off explosives in an empty OWH facility—or one they were claiming in public was empty.”

“Why?” Erica asked through a mouthful of chili. 

Talia pulled a hand through her hair. “We want them to react, to prove it wasn’t empty. They were funneling their funding into this building and others like it.”

“Then what was in it?” Cora asked. She had her feet in Erica’s lap while she picked off of Stiles and Scott’s plates. 

“They were using the building to develop weapons and new ways to torture werewolves, kitsune, and various others.” She rubbed her forehead and let out a soft breath. “There were a lot of dead and dying in there.”

Stiles swallowed thickly and looked down.

Scott bumped his shoulder. 

Laura looked frustrated.

“Either way, you’ll have a few days. Enjoy it.”

“Yeah, alright. Get some rest, guys,” Laura muttered.

“Laura, eat something,” Talia sighed.

“I will. Is Peter still in the lab?”

Talia nodded.

“That’s where I’ll be. I’ll take the gun Stiles grabbed for him. Stiles, go to the infirmary and let Mel have a look at your nose, okay?”

“I’m fine!” Stiles protested, but Talia was already turning toward him worriedly.

Laura winked and flounced out of the cafeteria right as Derek was coming in.

“I am fine,” Stiles repeated. 

“You’re the only human on your team,” Talia sighed. “It stresses me out when you’re covered in bruises.” She prodded the side of his bruised nose gently. “You’d better go to the infirmary, like Laura said.” 

Erica crunched on a cracker. “He’s not _covered_ in bruises. Just the one, because he got distracted arguing with Derek.”

Over Talia’s shoulder, Stiles saw Derek freeze.

While Talia turned to scold him, Stiles jumped up. “Well, I’m off.” He waved cheerily, turning his hand to flip Derek off when Talia wasn’t looking. 

Derek scowled but didn’t retaliate—Talia was snarling, “You could have gotten him killed! You’re not children, you two need to start paying more attention, what if that’d been a bullet hole instead of a broken nose?”

Stiles left for the infirmary with a grin on his face.

Melissa wasn’t happy to see him. “I have five teenagers with wolfsbane poisoning, three adults gagging up their lungs because they inhaled silver dust, and six kids with mild chickenpox, _why are you trying to kill me?_ ” she demanded. 

He lifted his hands. “Talia wanted someone to check out my nose. Just following orders.”

She gestured at a cot. “Go sit down. Isaac!” she called, spinning on her heel. “Tend to your idiot friend’s face.” She marched over to another cot, where an adult werewolf was indeed coughing violently. 

Stiles hopped on the cot she’d gestured to and swung his legs. There was a dark wet spot on his left knee where he’d knelt in someone’s blood. 

Isaac approached quickly with some ice packs and gauze. “It doesn’t look broken,” he observed.

“It’s not.”

He nodded and squeezed one of the ice packs until it popped. “Everyone else is okay?”

“Yep. Laura’s frustrated because we’re getting fluff stuff.” He shrugged, too tired to be bothered. “I don’t mind rescue. It’s nice when we bring someone back.”

Isaac put the ice pack on Stiles’s face and grabbed his wrist, prompting him to hold it up. Then he turned to look across the room. “She’s over there with her parents. She’s dehydrated and a little malnourished.” 

Kira looked okay; bruised up, tired, but happy with her parents standing at her bedside. They looked relieved.

“Good.” He adjusted the ice pack. “Am I free to go?”

“Where are you going?”

“To visit my dad, then to bed, I promise.”

Isaac grinned. “Yeah, okay. Say hi to your dad for me.”

“Sure.” Stiles hopped down and waved over his shoulder. He didn’t think he needed the ice pack, but he kept it on his face anyway. Might as well use it since he already had it.

John worked in the gym with Bobby Finstock, a couple Hales—Cora’s aunt and uncle—and, most recently, Jackson Whittemore, training people in self-defense and combat.

Stiles thought putting Jackson in a position of authority with the excuse to beat up on people was basically just idiocy, but Finstock _and_ John insisted he was right for the job.

John was pretty much alone when Stiles got there, save for a couple of women sparring on the far mats. 

“Hey, old man. You keep busy while I was gone?”

The raw relief on his face always left Stiles a little shell-shocked, but he should always expect it.

His mother had died on a field mission twenty years ago. 

Stiles knew it was against every instinct John had to let Stiles go. He’d insisted when he was sixteen, and it hadn’t taken long for John to give in to him training to protect himself, and it wasn’t long after _that_ for Stiles to start learning to use weapons.

“I was getting worried there,” he said, giving Stiles a tight hug.

“We were on time. We just had to check in with Talia, grab some food, and I had to go make a stop for some ice.” He lifted the ice pack off so he could rest his head against John’s shoulder. “I wanted to check in before I went to bed.”

John squeezed the back of his neck. “Did you guys find her?”

Stiles smiled against the sleeve of John’s shirt, breathing in the comforting scent of his familiar laundry detergent. “Yeah, we found her. She’s okay. Melissa has her in a bed for the moment.” 

He felt John nod. “You going out again tomorrow?”

“Nah, Talia’s got us staying here.” Stiles straightened up. “We could go somewhere, if you wanted. Get some fresh air.”

“We can take Scott and Mel.”

Stiles grimaced. “She seems to have her hands full, but if you can pry her away for a couple hours, great.”

“Okay. Come by at noon, we’ll sign out at the lunch rush.”

Stiles saluted playfully and laughed when John rolled his eyes, waving him out.

Stiles’s room—it was more of a dorm, everyone who lived alone got little dorms to make room for families in the apartment-style spaces—was down the hall from Laura’s, across from Scott’s. 

Most teams were in the same hall to ensure they could be around each other for long periods of time without bloodshed.

Stiles yawned widely and kicked his door shut behind him. He eyed the dresser where his pajamas were. With a grunt, he shucked his field clothes and climbed into bed. He was out in seconds.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I hATED having to wait so long to post this chapter, but I think we'll all be thankful in the end, when I manage to finish this fic and not fall behind! :D Anyway, here we go! Let me know what to think, and remember, this is largely readable because [kc-is-here-again](http://kc-is-here-again.tumblr.com/)

They couldn’t get Melissa to join them, but they got Scott, Isaac, and Cora. Their group was among a few others running out for some sunshine, fresh air, or groceries. 

“I can’t believe it’s gotten this bad,” John mumbled as he signed out.

The woman manning the sign out desk looked apologetic. “It’s to keep track, so we know if someone doesn’t come home. So many people have been going missing…”

John shook his head. “I know. I just wish it wasn’t necessary.”

Cora signed her name with a flourish. “Don’t we all.” She threw her arm around John’s shoulders. “You’ll be the one to stop it all, Mr. S, I can tell.” 

He let her lead him to the doors, amused, while Isaac and Scott signed out ahead of Stiles.

They were all armed, because leaving without a means of defense was just stupid. 

It was true they were less likely to get jumped since they were a mixed group—harder to tell who was a werewolf (Scott and Cora) and who was human (the rest of them)—but Stiles knew the OWH had no issues killing a human sympathizer. 

It always took a minute for Stiles to get used to the outside world when they went out.

Out here, people were going about normal-ish lives, knowing that werewolves existed and were being kidnapped, killed, and tortured, and it wasn’t taking over their waking thoughts.

Stiles wanted to tell them to pick a side, but he guessed that wasn’t fair. They weren’t actually at war; it just felt like it sometimes. 

There were no laws saying it was illegal to harm or even kill werewolves, specifically. 

Cora jostled him. “Stop thinking so hard. This is supposed to be fun.” She twisted a thick bracelet band around her wrist. It mimicked silver, but really it was just stainless steel. 

They were all wearing one. It’d become a trend among some middle-ground humans to wear silver to prove they weren’t supernaturals, since silver affected most of them. 

The plan had some obvious flaws, such as the one Cora and Scott were exploiting, but it tended to put people at ease anyway. 

It was safer all around if they just faked being human from the start. 

Isaac fidgeted with his. “These are stupid,” he muttered. 

“Hey, maybe for you. You’re not the one who’ll have to touch real silver to prove you’re human just to get into a store,” Cora grumbled. 

“Kids,” John sighed. “Don’t fight.”

“Yeah, don’t fight, kids,” Scott mimicked, making him snort. 

“Ice cream sounds good,” Stiles said, deciding to ignore the two of them; Isaac laughed. “Let’s go get some.”

“Okay. My mom sent a grocery list, by the way. If we could stop to grab that stuff before we went home, that’d be great.” 

“Sure, just remind us.” 

They walked wherever they needed to go; it was easier than using the Pack SUVs or public transit, where Scott and Cora might get overwhelmed or exposed. 

There were a few ice cream parlors nearby, but a couple of them had **No SPN Admitted** signs in the windows, so they kept walking.

“How’s your face?” Scott asked, tipping his head forward to see Stiles’s nose.

“Fine. Just bruised.” He looked like he’d run face first into a wall, actually, and he felt pretty much the same. 

“You know, Lydia probably could have covered that up for you,” Cora mused.

Stiles shrugged. “I didn’t want to bother her this morning.” 

It was hard to stay irritable in the sunshine, so Stiles gave in and indulged himself, goofing off with the others, teasing John about his age, and he almost talked the group into buying a hideous jacket for Laura.

“I’m getting it,” he insisted. “She’ll kill me and I love it.”

“She really will,” Scott breathed. “Don’t do it.”

“Orange _leather_ ,” Stiles replied.

John got him in a headlock. “Waste of money. And she _would_ murder you. Come on.” He pulled Stiles down the sidewalk a bit and opened a door, sending the scent of waffle cones and frozen treats wafting into Stiles’s face before he released him. 

Stiles brushed himself off and straightened up, sniffing. He walked with dignity to the counter and ordered a scoop of fudge swirl on a cone. He paid and moved out of the way, waiting at a table for the others.

Everyone who worked for the Pack was given modest pay for their work, for food or clothes or trinkets that weren’t necessities, with the money from their funding. People who couldn’t work were given shelter and food, too, but they rarely stayed in the bunker long. 

Talia and her pack found safe places for them to live after getting them on their feet, if they chose to leave. Most did. 

They decided to walk while they ate.

“I wonder if we can go see a movie,” Scott said wistfully as they left the shop. “It’s midday, on a Tuesday. Could be safe.”

Cora snorted. “Everything is in a series that we haven’t seen the beginning of.”

“True.” Stiles eyed a couple walking toward them warily. “We could get some popcorn and take it home instead of going in to watch. Buy a movie somewhere.” 

The couple, wearing black cargo jackets and tight jeans, bumped into Isaac lightly as they passed, muttering an apology as he stumbled. 

Scott moved closer to Cora, chuckling, “So clumsy!” while John steadied Isaac with a hand on his arm.

Stiles tightened his hand on his ice cream cone, bracing.

The couple kept walking.

“Are we paranoid or what?” Cora sighed.

“They could’ve had wolfsbane,” Isaac reasoned. He twisted his ice cream so he could lick up the streaks of chocolate escaping. 

“They weren’t hunters,” John said wisely. “They just want to look like hunters. Look.” He nodded at a man across the street, also wearing a cargo jacket. “Watch the way he’s walking. Kind of stiff, hypervigilant?”

“Yeah…” Only Isaac was really paying attention; the other three knew what to look for most of the time.

“He’s armed, but he’s not a hunter. He wouldn’t be able to move very easily in those pants, either. He’s just as likely to toss wolfsbane on Stiles as he is Scott.” 

“Yeah, but that doesn’t really count,” Cora said doubtfully. “Stiles moves like us.” 

John nodded at a woman walking ahead of them clad in a t-shirt and worn jeans. “Loose stride, observant but not anxious. _She’s_ a hunter, maybe on her day off or just scoping the area.”

Cora and Scott went noticeably tense, but John just steered them into a bookstore without slowing. 

“I’m going to find some books,” Cora announced, rubbing her arms. 

“Buddy system,” John reminded her.

She hooked her arm through his. “You’re my buddy, Mr. S.” She laughed and pulled him down an aisle. 

Stiles finished off his cone and tossed the napkin in a nearby trashcan. “Let’s go find Laura a movie or something.”

“Why?” Isaac asked. “I mean, it’s great that you want to get her a gift…” He looked uncomfortable. 

“Because she’s in a really bad mood and new materials make her happy.”

“Happy Laura means she doesn’t kick our asses with training sessions,” Scott explained. 

“Maybe we can find a series for her,” Isaac said doubtfully. 

Stiles understood Laura’s bad mood. They were made up of members of Talia’s family pack, so they often got sent on safer missions. It was frustrating for her, considering they’d all gone through the same training regimen as all the other teams.

“Don’t pout,” Scott said. “Rescue is a noble job.”

Stiles shook himself. “Yeah, I know. I’m just feeling off today.” He navigated the aisles until he found a sale bin. “Maybe we can find more than one.”

They ended up with a series called _Radiant_ for Laura, a new planner for Melissa, and a stack of mixed genre novels. 

Everyone tended to share books and movies, since they couldn’t get cable in the bunker. 

“Hey, wait,” John said quietly before they left. He was staring at a TV in the café, which was on a news channel. 

“Authorities found two employees outside of a Patrick & Hannagan factory in the early hours this morning. It hasn’t been confirmed that the two were supernaturals but the nature of their deaths indicates…”

The anchor went on, but Stiles tuned out.

Deaths. They were more than likely cut in half, which was obviously not a natural death. They’d been murdered by the OWH, most likely, or people who supported them. 

Stiles turned away. “I’m going to wait outside.”

Cora joined him; Scott could stomach that stuff for the information. It usually just made Cora and Stiles want to hit stuff. 

“Gym when we get home?” she asked dully, tilting her head back to let the sunshine hit her face. 

“Definitely.”

They hauled their loot to a nearby park and got snacks from a food truck. They found some benches to sit on near the walking trail.

Cora stretched out on one of them, put her head on John’s leg, and closed her eyes after she finished her tacos. 

John snorted at her and pulled out a book he’d bought, settling back to get comfortable. 

Stiles looked at Scott and Isaac. “I’ll race you to the swings,” he declared, and shot off their bench.

He grinned when he heard Scott shout in protest and Isaac call him a cheater as they raced after him.

Isaac made it to the swings first; he had the longest legs and Stiles had wasted time trying to trip Scott. He had an unfair advantage, something had to be done. 

“You’re too big to be pushed,” Stiles grumbled, but he pushed him anyway.

There were other swings, of course, but the rules of the swing set were very clear: whoever won the race there got pushed.

Scott snorted and waved Stiles away. “Let me show you how it’s done.” 

Isaac gripped the chains hard when Scott pulled him back.

Stiles backed up; he’d seen werewolf strength at work. 

Isaac crowed with wild laughter when Scott pushed him; for a second, Stiles was sure he was going to fly out of the swing, but, as usual, he just flew back, then forward again.

Stiles sighed and got on his own swing, pushing off the ground just hard enough to swing back and forth. 

“Hey.” Scott nudged Stiles’s shoulder and jerked his chin at a man and a little girl across the park by the slide.

They were wearing silver cuffs like everyone else, but the way the man—the father, probably—was standing, with his head tipped toward them, shoulders tense, and positioned between the girl and them, made Stiles think he could hear them.

“Hmm,” he replied.

Scott shifted around so he was beside Stiles. “They’re werewolves,” he breathed. “They know I’m one, too.” 

Isaac dragged his shoes on the ground to slow his momentum. 

“Don’t bother them,” Stiles said. “They’re clearly doing okay.”

“Our side of the country _is_ safer for them than the rest,” Isaac said softly. “At least here they have a chance to blend.”

The OWH had made it impossible for supernaturals to live under the radar. “Humanity checks” were done at state lines and randomly throughout cities and towns any further east than Idaho.

Scott nodded at the man when he looked up; the man shot a frightened look at his daughter before turning his back to them again. 

Scott sighed. “I think I’m gonna go to the grocery store now.”

“What’s she making?” Stiles asked casually. 

Scott pulled out the list and held it up. “Looks like fajitas or something.”

“Nice. Would it be premature to invite myself over?” Stiles grinned. 

“She was going to invite you guys anyway.” Scott shoved him playfully. 

Stiles got up and looked over his shoulder. “Yeah, let’s go now. I don’t really feel like being out anymore.” 

Scott nodded.

Isaac said, “That’s because you aren’t around sick people all day.” 

“You chose your job,” Stiles pointed out.

“And you’re good at it.” Scott elbowed him lightly. “You know you are.”

“So are you.”

“Yes, I am.” He twisted the silver bracelet around his wrist. “But I’m also more equipped for field medicine than you.”

Stiles nudged Isaac. “Come on. You can spar with us when we get back.”

The unhappy look on his face made Stiles chuckle.

“Or not,” he relented. 

 

Grocery stores sold wolfsbane in sealed bouquets in the floral department. It made shopping an interesting experience. Since it was sealed, there wasn’t much danger, but it made everyone uncomfortable.

John did most of the shopping while the rest followed him around like twenty-four-year-old ducklings. 

 

It was something of a relief to sign back in at the bunker. Stiles promised to meet Cora at the gym in an hour and left with Scott and John to put Melissa’s groceries away for her. 

“We should find Laura and give her these,” Scott said, shaking the bag with the series they bought her in it. They’d also got some candy and a bag of popcorn as an extra treat.

“Yeah, okay. We can go after we finish here.” Stiles sorted the bell peppers they’d picked out.

John waved them off. “You two go on, I’ll finish up here and let Mel know we got everything.”

“Thanks.”

He ruffled Scott’s hair affectionately and hugged Stiles, then turned back to the groceries. “See you two for dinner.”

Stiles nodded and followed Scott out. “Do you know where she is?”

“Probably in her room. Or the gym, kicking the crap out of something.” Scott whistled cheerfully through his teeth as they walked. “You should visit Lydia or Danny instead of sparring. Taking _one day_ to let yourself relax won’t kill you,” he added before Stiles could argue.

“I know it won’t.” Stiles shrugged. “Yeah, maybe I’ll visit them. Where’re you going?”

“I thought I’d go visit Kira and see how she’s doing.” 

“Oh, but _I_ have to take a day off?” he scoffed. “They’re just bruises.”

“Dude,” Scott said reproachfully. “I’m not going to wrestle a bear, I’m going to check in on a girl who was abducted.” 

Stiles rolled his shoulders. “Yeah, sorry.” He knocked on Laura’s door as they approached.

He knew her well enough to back up several feet when the door opened.

“What?” she snarled.

“We brought you gifts,” Scott said, holding the bag out.

“Why?” she demanded suspiciously. “We’re training tomorrow no matter what you try to bribe me with.”

“It’s not a bribe, it’s a gift.” Scott smiled at her for good measure. 

“Fine.” She took the bag and looked in it. “Candy and DVDs? What’s _Radiant_?” 

“Watch it tonight and find out.”

Stiles grinned. “You’ll like it.”

“Thanks. We’re still training tomorrow,” she added, slamming her door in their faces.

“See? That wasn’t so bad.” Scott clapped him on the shoulder and started walking. 

“I still think the jacket would’ve been better.”

“She would have killed you.”

“Sure, but in those moments before death, the look on her face would be _so perfect_.”

Scott shook his head, laughing.

They crossed paths with Cora on their way back; she was going to visit Lydia in the lab.

“Well, how about you two go do that while I visit Kira?” Scott suggested. 

Cora snorted and smirked. “She’s popular today. I asked Derek if he wanted to come out with us and he said no because he was going to visit Kira, too.”

“Are we going to the lab now or-?” Stiles demanded loudly. 

Cora patted his arm soothingly. “Don’t worry, you’re still his favorite person to argue with.”

Scott laughed. “Say hi to Lydia and the others for me.”

 

The lab was well away from the infirmary. They had once been side by side, until some genius had realized that people experimenting on wolfsbane and weapons shouldn’t be by sick and injured people.

“Laura’s going to have us training tomorrow,” Stiles told Cora. 

She groaned. “Great. Did she like the series you and Scott got her?”

“She was happy to have something to do,” Stiles hedged. “It could distract her, but I doubt it’ll last until tomorrow.” He waved at Joseph, the leader of another team, when they passed him in the hall; he nodded back. “The sparring isn’t so bad. It’s the running that gets me.”

“Really?” Cora grimaced. “I hate shooting practice.”

“That’s because you suck at it.”

She pushed him playfully, making him stumble into a couple of teenagers leaving a classroom. 

“Sorry,” he said, waving, before shoving Cora back. “Jerk.”

“Dick.” She laughed and ran ahead, typing in the entrance code for the lab before he could get there. 

The lab was only locked because _allegedly_ about fourteen years ago, three kids had gotten into the lab. _Allegedly_ one of them had been dared to touch something she shouldn’t have and _allegedly_ still had the scar on the palm of her hand. Nothing had been proven, but safety measures had been taken, because _someone_ had told Peter Hale about the incident.

Stiles only caught up after the door had swung shut and locked again. He scowled at her through the window; she stuck her tongue out at him. 

He punched in the code without looking away, trying to catch her off guard, but she heard the lock click and skipped back, laughing.

“No goofing around in here!” Lydia Martin ordered sharply.

She looked especially radiant—that might have been a light sheen of sweat—with her hair all pinned back, wearing a lab coat and protective goggles around her neck.

“Lydia,” Stiles said, “you look stunning today, as usual.”

She scowled at him. “Did you inhale some of the smoke Erica set off last night?”

“No!”

“Then you want something.” She waved her hands. “We’re busy. I’ve got about eight different projects going on and Peter stole half my help to work on _his_ super-secret project, and Danny’s group is fixing a bug with our comm system.” 

“What’re you working on?” Cora asked, picking up a sheaf of papers from a desk behind her.

“Up until this morning, I was developing something to dull the effect silver has on werewolves and vamps, but it’s been halted for the moment.” She looked infuriated about it.

“Why?” Cora demanded. “That sounds _awesome_.” 

“It was going to be,” Lydia agreed. “You could have touched silver, even been cut by it, with little to no reaction. But Talia doesn’t approve.”

Cora gaped at her. “But—why not?”

Lydia shoved at some stray hair irritably. “She doesn’t want it used as a way to hide in public. For mission safety, sure, but our goal, she insisted, is to remind ‘humans’ that we are people, too. So changing something inherent in our nature—allergy to silver—is something she doesn’t want to encourage.”

“Oh.” Cora frowned. “She should let you keep working on it. It could keep a lot of us safe in the field.”

“I agree. I’ll bring it up again next time she comes around.”

“What else?” Stiles asked, leaning around her to look around.

The lab did seem less occupied than it normally was, though still busy.

“Well, we’re developing better ways of treating wolfsbane poisoning on the field.” She gestured at a blocked-off area with biohazard and **No Werewolves Past this Point** signs. “We want to be safe, so we’re just keeping all werewolves out of that area.” She smiled at Stiles. “We’re also trying to find a way to make the smoke bombs safe for _our_ humans while still affecting the OWH humans.”

“Oh, yeah? Any progress on that?”

“So far, no. Everything we’ve tried makes it safe for _all_ humans, so…” She looked over her shoulder and waved at someone. “I’m collaborating with Danny and his new partner on a tracking system.” 

“A _tracking_ system?” Cora demanded.

Danny and another man Stiles didn’t recognize approached. “Yeah, tracking.” He nodded at Stiles briefly and looked back at Cora. “So many people have been getting abducted—on missions, getting supplies, doing surveillance—that we’ve decided to try something new. Every tracking system we’ve considered and tested has been hacked so far.” He nodded at his partner. “This is Vernon Boyd. He’s been hacking them for me to prove they can be compromised.” 

Vernon smiled without showing his teeth and said, “You can just call me Boyd. And, yeah, a tracking system that the enemy can also use is sort of counterproductive. We figured maybe Lydia’s team might have some ideas to toss in.” 

“A good idea, I think,” Lydia said. “We have magic-users in here that might be able to help.”

“Right.” Stiles looked at Boyd. “I haven’t seen you around before.”

He smiled, close-mouthed, again. “Alpha Santos sent me a week ago. Peter Hale requested it. I just go where I’m told.”

“Alpha Santos…Oh.” Stiles nodded, flicking a glance toward Danny. “Why did Peter request help?”

Cora looked between him and Danny, her nose twitching just enough for Stiles to notice. His lips compressed.

Danny shrugged. “Maybe he feels like we’re falling behind, tech-wise.” He looked at Lydia. “We’re going to get back to work,” he said. “See you guys later.” 

Cora smiled and waved and when he and Boyd had walked away, she pinched Stiles’s arm.

“Ow! What the hell, Cora?” he snapped, rubbing his arm. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You hooked up with _Danny_ before we left on Sunday!” she hissed. 

“Why—so?” he demanded, switching tactics last second.

Lydia lifted her brows. “You did?”

“This is literally the last thing I want to talk about.” 

“Oh, I see.” Lydia turned to Cora. “He does that before you guys leave for a mission. I didn’t realize he’d done it this time, with Danny, though.”

“Would you guys stop?” Stiles snapped.

“Why?” Cora asked, ignoring him.

“Because he might die, so he has fun before you leave.”

“That is _not_ why!” He snarled when Cora just looked at him sadly and stomped away. 

Peter had his own lab within the lab, sequestered off to the left. Stiles went there and opened the door.

“No werewolves!” a guy said quickly, catching the door.

“It’s alright, Adam, it’s just Stiles,” Peter’s voice called. 

“I’m human,” Stiles added for good measure.

“Huh. Okay.” Adam stepped back from the door to let Stiles in. “Stay away from the other doors,” he advised. 

Peter was building something to the left with the help of two people Stiles couldn’t place names to and gloves. His mask was pushed up on his head, not doing him any good. 

“Shouldn’t you be wearing goggles?”

“Did you let Lydia in, too?” Peter replied without looking up.

“Haha. What is that?”

“So far? Nothing. Dammit.” He dropped a little ball on the floor; the room collectively flinched and braced. “False alarm!” he called. “Nobody panic!”

“What’d you think it was?” Stiles asked, leaning in.

“Last week someone dropped a bomb Lydia was working on,” Adam replied. “There was some chemical in it that stung our eyes and noses. We had to get decontaminated very thoroughly before it stopped.”

“Oh.” 

“They’re just jumpy,” Peter said dismissively. He picked up the ball and brushed it off on his coat. 

“Well, _you_ weren’t affected by it, so of course you didn’t think it was a big deal,” Adam said, sounding grumpy.

Peter blinked and looked up. He smiled directly at Adam. “You’re right. Sorry.”

Peter’s smile and direct attention had the same effect that it did with any of the Hales; Adam’s gaze dropped, face flushing lightly pink. 

“I should go back to work,” he mumbled and fled.

Peter was already working on his project again. “It should launch chemical filled pellets from a safe distance that will temporarily paralyze humans,” he said casually.

Stiles leaned forward eagerly. “Cool.”

“Yes. I made it from one of the OWH’s own guns.” He held up a now-ungloved hand that had faint red scars all over it. “Wolfsbane. It should be good for undercover stuff or just to throw them off.” He shrugged and kept working. “You shouldn’t let them bother you.”

“They didn’t _bother_ me.” 

Peter snorted. “Right. Paige, here, finish this off. Just follow the blueprints, you’ll do great,” he added with a quick, charming smile when she looked up in panic.

He got off his stool and took a second to blink at Stiles like he really hadn’t been fully aware of who’d been talking until that second. 

Or he’d noticed the beautiful array of mottled bruises on Stiles’s face.

“The girl you brought in had foxglove in her blood. Just enough to make her lethargic, but not sick. I assume that was the intention. Weirdly, it was mixed with a bit of aconite.”

“Why is that weird?”

Peter walked over to another table and started poking around with the tools and vials spread across it; the people working there looked nervous but kept working. “Kitsune aren’t weakened by wolfsbane. They aren’t even affected by it like humans can be.” 

“Maybe it just—happened on accident? They work with a lot of wolfsbane, maybe it was cross-contamination?”

Peter shook his head—it didn’t seem like disagreement, but with the air of shaking off the conversation. “We’re working on it. I don’t know what it is right now.”

Across the lab, something banged against one of the closed doors and roared.

Peter turned around and sighed. “That probably means you should move along.”

Stiles’s brows creased. “Who’s-”

“Quarantine. Go, Stiles,” he sighed. “We’re busy.” 

Stiles straightened, insulted at the dismissal.

Adam tapped on Stiles’s elbow and jerked his head toward the door. “You know how Peter gets,” he said apologetically.

“Yeah.” Stiles looked over his shoulder though, frowning. Sick people were usually kept in the infirmary. Why were they keeping quarantined people in Peter’s lab?

“Talia is aware, as are the other Alphas,” Adam said quietly. “It’s nothing big.”

“Huh.” Stiles pulled the door open. “Well, thanks.” 

“Sure.” Adam frowned at him suspiciously while he shut the door. 

“Okay, get out,” Lydia said. “Everyone out. We’ve got to get to work on this.”

Cora waved at Stiles, looking at Lydia pointedly. 

He shrugged and crossed the room, mumbling an apology when he got in someone’s way.

“What’re you doing in here?”

Stiles closed his eyes briefly, like if he gave himself a second, he’d wake up in bed and find that this was a nightmare. 

It was not.

“I was visiting and seeing if anyone needed help,” he replied shortly. 

Derek looked murderous, which was generally his expression around Stiles and didn’t bother him. “Why help in the lab? You aren’t trained for lab work.” 

Stiles’s lip curled. “Because I have friends here and I wanted to.”

“You’re not really allowed in here,” Derek said, tilting his head. “Why don’t you leave?”

Cora cut in before Stiles could lose it. “No one was ever banned or caught for that incident.” 

“Besides, this place is full of wolfsbane. Out of the two of us, it’s _you_ who shouldn’t be here.” Stiles lifted his brows.

“Hey,” Danny said, approaching them. “Look, I get that arguing is your thing, but can you yell at each other in the hall? We’re trying to work here, guys.” He set his hand on Stiles’s shoulder soothingly, making him back up a step.

“Maybe you should work in here permanently—since you’re only human and not bothered by the wolfsbane or the silver,” Derek said lightly. 

Stiles took another step back, mostly in shock. “Only-?” He laughed and shook his head. “Right.” He glanced around at Danny and Cora without really looking at them. “I’ll be in the armory, because this human is also qualified to work there.” He shoved past Derek and out the door, fuming.

“Good going,” Cora snapped.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm going to post once a week now! Because I'm almost done and I'm too excited to wait! I hope you enjoy this chapter!! :D Lemme know what you think!

Laura slammed Scott down on the mats for the fourth time and rocked back, wiping her face.

“Scott, man,” Erica said, shaking her head. “Stop letting her get so close, that’s how she gets you.”

Laura helped Scott up. “She’s right.” She used her shirt to wipe her face again.

She’d been in a bad mood for weeks, ever since Talia had essentially grounded them. 

“Okay, I got it.” Scott shook his head and rolled his shoulders. “Let me try again.”

“No. Get some water. Erica, you and Derek go next.”

Across the gym, John was teaching basic self-defense to his 7-to-10-year-old class.

Laura watched Erica and Derek spar for a few minutes, arms crossed. 

“You know, it’s a _good_ thing we haven’t been sent out,” Scott said. “That means people aren’t going missing.”

“Or,” Erica grunted, rolling to her feet, “it means they don’t know where to send anyone for rescue missions.” She caught Derek’s next kick and flipped him. 

“Nice, really nice,” Cora breathed. She elbowed Stiles lightly. “We’re next.”

“Yep.” He patted her shoulder. “Go easy on me.”

She snorted.

Erica and Derek were pretty evenly matched, style, speed, and strength-wise; Laura noticed. She called to Derek to swap with Cora, which was a better match. Cora was quick, but Erica was strong. 

Scott brought Derek a cup of water from the cooler and started talking about Kira.

The Yukimura family had decided to stay for a bit; Mr. Yukimura was helping out in the classrooms while Mrs. Yukimura took some shifts in the gym and armory. 

Kira and Scott were doing the world’s most adorable mating dance, each trying to work up the courage to mention dating.

Stiles and Cora had started taking bets; Laura was betting they’d finally get around to it in another two weeks. Stiles hoped she was wrong—he had money on next Thursday. 

“Cora, like this,” Laura said impatiently, stepping in to correct Cora’s stance. 

Cora shook her off. “I _know_ , Laura.”

“Then prove it. And Erica, don’t swing so wildly,” she snapped. “You’re acting sloppy.”

Erica scoffed. “Yeah, fine.”

Laura stepped back and gestured for them to start again.

Laura valued fighters who could adapt; everyone had things they were best at, but Laura wanted them capable of moving out of their comfort zones. 

Cora, for instance, liked using her hips and legs most, but she knew when to switch to her fists or her weapons.

Erica hated kicking; she’d prefer to rush her opponent and knock them flat.

“Alright. Stiles, Derek,” Laura called. 

Scott’s head snapped up. “I thought I was fighting Derek.” 

“No,” Laura said. “Stiles hasn’t gone and Derek didn’t get a full turn. Go.” 

Scott shrugged and eased back, glancing uneasily at Stiles. 

Stiles kicked his shoes off and stepped up on the mats, rolling his shoulders back and grinning.

He heard Cora ask if Laura was sure they should be fighting.

Derek gestured at Stiles to get on with it, so he rushed him. 

He saw Derek smirk, probably assuming that Stiles was going for a gut-shot, and ducked around him, kicking the back of his knee.

Derek snarled and leapt back up to his feet, swinging his arm out wildly as he spun to face Stiles. 

Stiles ducked in close and jabbed his ribs; Derek hooked his foot around Stiles’s ankle while he was close and unbalanced them both.

Stiles hit the mats hard with Derek on top of him. 

He pulled his legs free and hooked his ankles together behind Derek’s back and rocked; while they tumbled, he hit Derek under the chin with his elbow. He dug his fingers into the back of Stiles’s knee painfully, until he yelped and unhooked his legs; they both rolled away from each other and to their feet. Derek struck first, a quick jab to Stiles’s side that had him doubling over gagging. While he was down, he lashed out quickly, landing an uppercut to Derek’s jaw. He stumbled back; Stiles snapped a kick at his chest while he was still off balance, knocking him on his back.

He shot up as quickly as he’d fallen, rushing in and ramming his shoulder into Stiles’s gut, slamming him back to the mats.

Wheezing, Stiles took a second to get his bearings. 

Derek pulled back to punch; Stiles sat up and head-butted Derek in the nose in the same move. 

Derek fell back, clutching his nose while Stiles wobbled to his feet, blinking stars out of his eyes. 

Derek’s wet, bloody hand closed around Stiles’s ankle and yanked him back down.

He straddled Stiles’s hips, hands on his shoulders to pin him. “Tap out,” he advised, licking at the blood dripping from his nose.

“Never,” Stiles replied, grinning.

Derek grinned back, until Stiles grabbed his shoulders and twisted, reversing their positions.

As much as they argued, as much as their personalities clashed, god, it was fun to fight with Derek. 

Stiles pinned Derek the same way he’d pinned him, using the pause to catch his breath. 

“You realize you aren’t actually holding me down, right? You’re not that heavy.”

Stiles hummed and grabbed at one of Derek’s hands; he pulled back the finger he’d grabbed, making Derek yelp. “You were saying?”

Derek stood up; Stiles jumped back, dropping his feet to the floor so he didn’t fall over. 

He still had Derek’s middle finger. He shifted his grip to Derek’s wrist and twisted, wrenching it around behind his back and kicking the bend of his closest knee, making him drop to them.

Derek reached around, grabbing Stiles’s arm, and pulled; he flung Stiles over his head and slammed him into the mat. 

He tried to get up, but all he managed was a weak rasp and a hand flop.

Derek leaned over him, so Stiles took the opportunity to punch him. He missed Derek’s nose; his knuckles banged into the side of his head, maybe his ear, which made him fall back, snarling.

“Ha,” Stiles rasped.

“Okay, you two, that’s enough.” Laura pulled Derek back off the mat. 

Scott peeled Stiles off the floor and carried him like a child. “You two have some issues you need to work out.”

Stiles waved his hand, accepting his fate. “We just did.” 

“No, I mean—why do you get along better when you’re beating the crap out of each other?” Scott set Stiles down gently and grabbed a cup, holding it out to him. 

“Because neither of us is saying anything stupid when we’re fighting.” Stiles shrugged and chugged the water.

“Dude. No. Watching you two fight is just _uncomfortable._ ”

Stiles frowned at him. “Derek’s never actually hurt me. Mostly bruises. He’s not stupid.”

“That is _not_ what I-”

Erica dropped a wet towel over Scott’s head. “You and me next time, lover,” she said, blowing a kiss at Stiles as she sauntered away. 

Stiles laughed. 

Scott whipped the towel off his head. “That’s not funny.” 

“Sure,” Stiles agreed. “Hey, let’s go help Dad out for a bit.”

“Why?”

“Because the kids will take it easy on me and I feel like I got hit by a truck.” 

Scott winced. “That bad?”

Stiles snorted—he’d forgotten Scott had actually been hit by a truck the previous year. “Probably not actually that bad.” He held his hands out. “Help me up?”

Laura sighed. “If you’re going to help John, we’re going to head to the armory. Erica’s going to target practice, which is where Cora _should_ be going.”

Cora groaned. “My aim is _near_ perfect. I hit my target every time. We can’t all hit bullseyes like Erica.”

Laura tugged the end of Cora’s ponytail. “That’s because you don’t practice.”

“We’ll meet you guys at the armory when we’re done,” Scott said, pulling Stiles to his feet.

Stiles groaned the whole way up. “Ow,” he said when he was upright.

“You’re so dramatic.”

Stiles cuffed Scott’s head.

He laughed and dodged a second swing. “Come on, your dad could use the break.” 

 

“Be good examples,” John warned as they approached the class. “These kids need to know this stuff, so they need to take it seriously.” 

“Duh. Serious is my middle name.” Stiles waved at the kids, who were sort of eyeing him apprehensively. “What’s wrong?”

“We saw your fight,” one of the older kids said bravely. 

“Yeah, and you’re _human._ Derek’s a werewolf. How did you manage to do that?”

“I’m tough.” 

“And Derek knows that Stiles is human, and that it wasn’t a true fight,” Scott said, smiling. “We know not to hurt our human teammates.” 

Stiles scowled at the implication—as if Derek had been going easy on him—but tried to clear his expression when John grabbed his shoulder and shook him lightly. 

“Okay, kids,” John said, clapping. “Let’s see those cat stances!”

 

Scott and Stiles were in Stiles’s room enjoying pizza, beer, and a horror movie later that afternoon when Cora kicked open the door. 

Scott leapt in shock, smothering Stiles against the floor. 

“Why?” Stiles demanded, moving his head so he could see her around Scott; he knew why Scott had squished him—trained reaction.

“I’ve brought cake and Isaac and Kira,” she announced. 

“And I brought plates and forks,” Kira said, leaning eagerly around Cora’s shoulder. 

Scott straightened up hastily, looking around. “Dude,” he hissed. “This place is a mess!”

Stiles sat up. “Good thing I’m not trying to impress anyone,” he sneered. 

He did get up and grab his clean laundry off the end of the couch so there was more space for people to sit. 

“Well, if you have cake,” he said graciously to the three in the doorway. 

Cora rolled her eyes and marched across the room, toward the table crammed by the wall. There were only two chairs, but Stiles rarely needed more. 

“How far are you into the movie?” she asked. “Can you start it over so we can all watch?” She started cutting up the cake. “Dad went out earlier. I asked him to bring this back for us.” 

Stiles rolled his eyes toward Scott, who was already starting the movie from the beginning and pausing it on the title screen. 

“All for us? Thanks,” Stiles said dryly. 

“It was a bribe,” Isaac blurted.

Cora sighed and twisted around to glare at him; he held his hands up.

“A bribe for what?” Stiles asked suspiciously.

Kira looked at Scott. “So what movie are we watching?” she asked, lifting her brows.

Scott caught on quickly and started detailing the summary of it.

“Laura’s helping Mom with some phone calls and paperwork,” Cora said. She didn’t look up from the cake, which she was cutting into meticulously even slices. “And Erica is helping Lydia in the lab. I figured, since we’re all in here, well, we could _all_ be in here.” 

“Okay…”

“So I invited Derek. He’s bringing more pizza,” she added sunnily. “Here, cake.” She held out a plate to him. 

Stiles scowled. “Cake is _not_ enough-”

“Why? You guys used to be fine with each other!”

“Yeah, when I was seven and he was eleven! It was okay for him to treat me like a kid then—I was a kid!” 

Cora sighed sadly. “He’s just trying to look out for us, that’s all. Come on. We all used to do everything together.” 

Stiles snorted. “Fine. But the leftover cake stays here.”

“Obviously.”

Stiles wished he could say this was a surprise, but the truth was, Cora pulled something like this every few weeks. 

She ran to her room to get a couple beanbag chairs for extra seating while everyone else grabbed cake. She returned with the chairs and Derek.

Derek looked about as pleased with the situation as Stiles was. 

Cora dropped the chairs on Derek’s feet and took the pizzas from his hands. “Pick a spot,” she said, walking away with the pizza. 

He huffed and picked the chairs up.

“Why don’t they get along?” Kira whispered to Scott.

“They tend to butt heads,” Cora replied. “They have issues. We’re working on it.”

“Group therapy?”

“Sparring,” Stiles said cheerily. “Nothing diminishes animosity like beating the crap out of each other.”

Kira smiled awkwardly. “Right. Okay.” 

“Stiles, chill,” Cora advised. 

He shrugged and took his cake to the couch, pulling his knees up to use as a table for his plate. 

When Derek sat on the floor in front of him, he considered stretching his legs out just to fuck with him, but Scott’s Stiles-sense must have pinged, because he elbowed him and shook his head. 

Stiles shrugged and smiled innocently. 

“Everyone ready?” Scott asked, picking up the remote. When everyone nodded, he pressed play.

 

Ian Hale called them to his office two days later, at 3AM. Laura was ecstatic when they all gathered there, passing out cups of coffee. 

“Sorry to wake you up, but we need you on the road quickly.”

“Awesome. What is it?” Laura demanded. 

Ian smiled briefly, but it was accompanied by a cringe. “You’ll be going to Utah, where there’s an OWH facility in an industrial area. You will be doing surveillance, noting schedules and any prisoners brought in or taken out.”

Stiles brought his coffee to his mouth and chanced a glance at Laura. 

She looked a little murderous around the eyes, but her face was ice cold. “Surveillance?”

Ian held his hands up. “This is a solid mission. We need to know what’s going on there, and a schedule of what they’re doing. We can’t safely send anyone in without knowing what’s going on or the rotations.”

Laura inhaled slowly through her nose. “I understand. Do we leave now?”

“Get your go-bags. We’re already loading an SUV with supplies. Your comms have been upgraded so you can communicate with us here if you need to.”

“Okay then. Are we dismissed?”

Ian sighed. “Laura, if you’re just patient-”

“Then what? Mom will trust me?” She shook her head. “Forget it. This is fine. Are we dismissed, Dad?”

He sighed and stood. “Yes. I love you all,” he added. “So be careful.”

“Aw, we love you, too, Mr. Hale,” Erica said, winking.

Stiles rolled his eyes at Scott. 

He shrugged and kept drinking his coffee. 

“Yeah, we love you, too, Dad,” Laura said. “Come on. Go-bags. Garage in ten.”

Derek and Cora stayed behind while the rest of them trailed out, no doubt saying goodbye. 

“How long do you think they’ll have us doing surveillance?” Erica asked. She yawned, a flash of fang appearing, and stretched her arms above her head. 

“Maybe a full week, week and a half. Just long enough to establish a schedule.” Laura pushed at her hair. “Make that fifteen minutes. If we’re going to be in a car together for days, we all need to shower.”

“Please,” Scott concurred, looking at Stiles pointedly.

“You guys sweat, too,” Stiles snapped. He’d only managed to fall asleep two hours before being woken; his mood was already affected. With that in mind, he resolved to grab a couple more cups of coffee before they left. 

He glanced at Scott and grimaced. After he showered, of course.

 

The fourteen hour drive was made mostly by Laura, but as they neared the Utah border, Stiles took over. Utah wasn’t notoriously anti-werewolf, but they documented every werewolf that they stopped, which was something to be avoided. 

Cora and Derek had fallen asleep in the cargo area, so Scott climbed up front with Stiles, handing him an energy drink. 

Laura stretched out in the backseat, and Erica pulled her feet onto her lap. 

“Thanks,” Stiles mumbled. 

“At least you’ll be able to sleep when we get there,” Scott said sympathetically.

Stiles grunted.

The rest of the team could drop off wherever they were if they sat still long enough, but Stiles was a notoriously bad sleeper. He probably wouldn’t get more than a couple hours at a time until they returned home. 

 

The OWH building was tucked among plenty of other warehouses and empty buildings. Unlike Chuck Lawrence Manufacturing, the OWH facility seemed to be buzzing with activity within; there were lights shining out of second floor windows and the doors at the front were brightly lit, illuminating two guards. 

“We’re all set up,” Erica said into their earpieces. “What about you guys?”

“We’re ready. Why do you guys get to stay in a building?”

“Because I said so,” Laura replied. “Stay in or near the car unless it’s an emergency.” 

Because they wanted to be thorough—“If Mom wants us doing surveillance, we’ll be the best at it.”—Laura, Cora, and Erica had gone to one of the empty buildings nearby to get a different vantage point while Scott, Derek, and Stiles watched from the car. 

Stiles wished they could have had Erica or Cora instead of Derek, but he didn’t make those decisions. 

“I can take first shift,” Derek said, climbing into the front seat. 

“I’m perfectly capable of-” Stiles started, catching himself at the last second. “Alright. Thanks.”

Derek looked over at him with surprise, but he pretended to ignore it. He climbed into the backseat and stretched out across it; Scott’s seat reclined a moment later. 

Stiles was _not_ going to start a fight on the _first_ of seven (possibly more) days stuck in a car with Derek. He was going to hold his tongue as long as he could and hope it got them through. 

 

Scott slapped his arm near dawn, rousing him from the meditative stupor he’d slipped into to get some rest. 

“Yeah, coming.” He rubbed his face and switched places with Scott, grabbing the notepad they’d been keeping observations in.

“Hey, lover, it’s just you and me for the next four hours,” Erica said into his earpiece. 

“Perfect, babe, we never get to be alone,” he replied, grinning. His shift was already looking up. 

“You aren’t, so please stop before I gag,” Cora muttered.

“Go to sleep, princess. Turn the volume down,” Erica advised.

Cora mumbled something unintelligible. 

“How many hours?” Stiles asked.

“Three hours and fifty-seven minutes.” Erica hummed under her breath. “You see those two guarding the door?”

“Yes…”

“They keep looking around—to the right, like they’re expecting someone. It’s like clockwork, every five minutes.”

Stiles watched. She was right. “Huh. What do you think they’re looking for?”

“Who knows?” Erica sighed. “Maybe prisoners.” 

“Do you have your binoculars?” Stiles asked.

“Yes…” She mimicked his tone from earlier.

“There’s someone moving around on the second floor.” Stiles picked up his own binoculars. “Why would they have a window unshaded?”

“For people like us,” Erica chirped. “It’s just someone walking around talking on the phone. He’s saying something like, um, ‘this is stupid. I thought I’d be working in the lab.’ –It’s just so if someone’s watching, they see a normal business.” 

“You can’t hear that,” Stiles accused. 

“No, but I can read lips, doofus.” 

“Oh.”

“Watch the guards.”

Stiles kept watch for his four hours, noting down the time at shift changes, and anyone going in or out of the building that wasn’t guarding the doors. 

The guards had a weird schedule, which he noticed when he looked at the notes Scott and Derek had made. They switched after three hours, then after five, then after two, then five, then back to three. 

When he switched with Derek, he mumbled about going to the bathroom and climbed out of the car. 

“Hey.” Scott followed him, keeping pace. “We’re not supposed to go off on our own,” he said when Stiles glanced at him.

“You left Derek back there.”

“Derek’s in the SUV full of weapons and can drive away.” Scott pulled Stiles’s shirt up and scoffed at the empty holster. “Dude. Not even armed?”

Stiles jerked away. “I have a couple of knives, but I didn’t want to bring a gun.”

Scott sighed. “Well, pick a building, any building. Also, lunch is protein bars and energy drinks.” 

“Yeah, I figured.”

Derek was writing notes when they got back, staring stonily at the notebook. 

“Lunch,” Scott said happily, climbing into the back.

Stiles got in the passenger seat and put his feet on the dash, eyeing the building. 

“Put your feet down,” Derek muttered, barely looking away from the windshield.

“It’s not your car.” Stiles took his feet off the dash, though. No point arguing. “Anything new?”

“No, they seem to be keeping to the same 3-5-2-5-3 schedule.”

Scott passed out the protein bars, bananas, and bottled water.

“Produce!” Stiles exclaimed, brows lifting.

“Yeah, we probably have enough for a couple more each today, and some apples for tomorrow.”

“You guys have the apples?” Laura hissed in their comms. 

Scott winced. “You guys took all the oranges, we needed something.”

“Ignore her,” Erica said. “Derek, did you see that woman?”

“I saw her,” Derek replied tersely. “She used a code to go in the west door.”

“Did you catch any part of the code?” Erica’s voice was boiling.

Stiles shrunk down in his seat.

“No, I did not.”

“You all need to settle down. Whoever isn’t on watch needs to be resting for their shift,” Laura ordered as if she hadn’t been in on the goofing off.

“Yes, ma’am.”

It wasn’t until 2AM on the third night that anything happened. It was Scott’s watch, but Stiles couldn’t sleep, so he was in the front eating peanut butter protein clusters that’d been packed in the supplies. 

Scott suddenly sat up straight, the dim gold glow of his eyes intensifying. 

“What?”

“I saw it, too,” Cora said urgently.

Stiles fumbled around until he found the night vision glasses Lydia had designed. 

There were ten people walking in a line on either side of a hooded, silver-shackled prisoner. The prisoner was walking like they were drugged, shuffling along and swaying side to side with every step.

“Note the time,” Laura whispered. 

“Already did.”

One of the guards got irritated at the slow pace and nudged the prisoner; they jerked away, pulling up hard on their shackles. 

The guards crowded around the prisoner, who _howled_ , long and enraged, maybe, and swung, knocking three of them off their feet. The door guards rushed to help.

“No, no, no one move,” Laura ordered. 

It was good she did; Scott and Derek had reacted to the howl, leaning up and straining to the sound.

“He needs help,” Scott whispered when the werewolf howled again. “He’s begging.”

“I’m contacting base now,” Laura said.

There was a moment of static before, with a click, their comms connected to base.

“Is everything alright?” Danny asked urgently. 

“Yes. We need to speak to Talia.”

Barely two seconds passed before Danny said, “She’s here now.”

“They’re bringing an alpha into the building, Mom,” Laura reported. “He’s in trouble.”

“Stay where you are,” Talia said steadily. 

“Mom!” Cora protested.

“Do not engage,” Talia repeated. “It’s too dangerous.”

Stiles watched as they fought the alpha werewolf, struggling to subdue him. Stiles found himself tensing, twitching almost as if he was down there too. 

“Mom-” Laura tried, but before she could say any more, a gunshot rang out.

The alpha jerked back and collapsed, blood spraying from his head. 

Scott yelped; Derek dropped his hand on his shoulder.

High pitched whines came through the earpieces.

“They, um, they shot him,” Laura said. “They shot him in the head.”

The guards picked up the body, muttering and shaking their heads. 

“Stay where you are,” Talia said. “They’re armed, and obviously not afraid to shoot. And there was nothing you could have done. At best, you’d have risked injury and compromised your positions.”

Laura cleared her throat. “Right. We understand. Don’t engage.”

Stiles looked at Scott and Derek; their eyes glowed, but their faces were drawn and sad rather than angry. 

“Disconnecting from base now,” Laura said. 

“We could have helped him,” Scott said quietly. 

“No, we couldn’t have,” Laura replied. “He was already fighting. By the time we got to him, the only thing we’d have accomplished would be getting ourselves caught.”

“You guys should go to sleep,” Stiles said. “I can watch for a few hours.”

Scott shook his head. “No, I’m okay.” He took a steadying breath. He looked at the notepad and started writing down what had happened, the day, the time, where. 

“He probably could have gotten away, if he wasn’t drugged,” Cora said softly.

“Erica, Derek, Stiles, you need to be resting for your shifts.” 

Stiles leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He jiggled his leg and picked at his nail, keeping his eyes shut.

“Stop fidgeting,” Derek mumbled.

“I’m going to take a walk,” Stiles replied, eyes popping open. 

“Kevlar,” Scott murmured.

“I’m not going far!”

Derek pressed Stiles’s vest into his chest before climbing out of the SUV. Stiles could see him pulling his own vest on outside the window. 

“I don’t need this,” Stiles grumbled. 

“A man was just killed. It’s protocol to wear vests in potentially hostile environments.” 

“Did you memorize the rules just to repeat them at me when I don’t want to hear them?”

Scott smiled at him; it wasn’t his usual smile, tight with grief. “Nope. Just keeping you safe, bro.”

Stiles sighed and started strapping the vest on. “Okay.” He pushed open his door.

“Hey. Here.” Scott passed Stiles the gun he was supposed to be carrying. “Seriously. They’re all amped up on adrenaline. If they catch you, they won’t hesitate.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and holstered the gun. “Thanks. I’m just getting some air.” 

Scott nodded and turned forward again. 

Stiles climbed out and closed the door, turning; he flinched when Derek reached for his face, but all he did was push the glasses up on Stiles’s head, revealing his eyes. 

“Uh, thanks?”

Derek turned away. 

Stiles folded the glasses and tucked them into his shirt. “You don’t have to come with me. I’m just going to that building and back to stretch my legs.”

Derek didn’t reply.

Stiles put his hands in his pockets and started walking. He wasn’t at all surprised when Derek fell in step beside him. 

He only needed to move; inaction left him irritable and twitchy on a good day, but seeing someone get shot while he just sat there? That made doing nothing impossible. 

He snorted and shook his head, frustrated and feeling useless.

He knew Laura was right, that they wouldn’t have had time to do any good, but it still felt shitty. 

“You wouldn’t have made it in time,” Derek said. “You aren’t fast enough.”

“Fast enough to keep up with you,” Stiles replied. He wasn’t feeling witty enough to come up with anything better. The truth always worked. 

“Barely,” Derek scoffed. “But I mean it. You couldn’t have helped.” 

“Right. Puny human.” Stiles rubbed a hand down his face. “Could you just—not? Give me five damn minutes to get my head together before you start picking at me?” He lengthened his stride to make his point, walking ahead of him so he could have an illusion of privacy.

“I think they’re bringing another prisoner,” Cora said quietly.

Stiles turned sharply and nearly walked into Derek’s back. He stepped around him.

He couldn’t see very well from this distance, even with the night vision glasses, so he walked back to the SUV, putting the glasses back on.

There was indeed another group marching swiftly across the lot; the group was surrounding three small, hooded figures. Small enough, in fact, that they looked like…

“Kids,” Erica gasped. “Those are kids.”

“Three children, ten guards, three hunters,” Scott said.

“No one move,” Laura ordered, as if she could see Derek leaning forward, bracing like a runner on the mark. “I’m contacting base.”

Derek ran, pulling his side arm out.

“Derek’s moving in,” Stiles snapped. “I’m going in to back him up.”

“Derek, _stop!_ We can’t just bust in there! You’re outnumbered! You won’t get there until they get inside!” Laura snarled.

Derek had a head start; he was basically in the lot when Stiles started chasing him. 

“Not gonna make it,” Stiles gasped. “Danny, can you take down the locks?”

“I haven’t even gotten into their system yet! I’ve been working on other locations—you know, following _orders_?”

“They’re _kids_.”

“But we could get them killed going in like this!” Laura snapped.

Stiles tuned them out so he could concentrate; there was a lot of arguing over the line.

Derek was inside already; he’d left a guard’s body in the door, propping it open. Stiles stepped over and in. 

Inside was chaos; the prisoner children had scattered and the guards and hunters were scrambling to fight Derek, to locate the kids, to get around each other.

Stiles couldn’t see Derek in the fray. He lifted his gun and wished there were fewer people; guns just seemed unfair. Then again, they were also armed. 

“Do you see Derek?” Laura’s voice drew his attention. 

Stiles kicked someone away. “No, there’s too many people. He didn’t exactly come in quietly.”

“We’re on our way. Scott should be there in a minute.”

One of the kids, hood still over their face, bumped into Stiles, trying to back away from the fight. 

Stiles whipped the hood off.

A young girl blinked and cringed, disoriented by the sudden light.

“Hey, kid. Go stand—no, crouch by the doors. Stay low.”

She nodded and ran, head ducked low. Her hands were still bound in front of her.

Stiles turned and took the butt of a gun awkwardly to the jaw; he caught himself and slapped the gun down, slamming the butt of his own gun into the guard’s temple. She crumbled to the floor.

“That’s the correct way,” he said, almost amused. 

When the others arrived, it seemed like they were going to _win_ ; Stiles saw Derek and ran to get him and the kid he was protecting. 

He turned sharply and shot twice before realizing who it was; Stiles stumbled back, nearly falling, as one bullet struck his vest. It felt like he’d been whacked in the chest with a 2x4. At the same time, hot, blooming pain spread on the outside of his left arm. He looked at both, stunned. 

“You shot me!” His voice came out breathless; his chest felt compressed. 

Derek looked sick and shocked. “I—you snuck up on me!” His eyes latched on the blood running down Stiles’s arm. His face went shockingly white.

Scott was already there, pulling on Stiles. “Come on, we have to go!” 

Stiles was still trying to catch his breath. “Der, come on-”

A woman darted in and snatched the kid Derek had been helping, pressing a gun to the side of the kid’s head. “We’ll let you leave, but this is staying with us. We paid a lot for it.” 

“For _him_ ,” Derek snarled. “He’s a kid.”

“He’s an _animal_ ,” the woman sneered. 

Stiles finally took a look at her face and barely managed to contain a gasp.

Scott did not. “Kate Argent.”

She grinned. “Do I know you, Bambi Eyes?”

Kate was the youngest daughter of the Argents, one of the OWH’s hunter families. She was notoriously cruel and vicious.

Stiles wasn’t surprised to find that she was working in a lab that was taking children.

“Hold your breath,” Scott muttered. 

“What?”

“Hold. Your. Breath.” 

Stiles had just enough time to grab Derek’s arm before cracks and pops filled the room, followed by thick, purple smoke. He forgot to take a breath of clear air, but it didn’t really matter. Scott was carrying him before his head even started spinning.

Stiles didn’t let go of Derek’s arm, at least not while he was conscious.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh your comments make me so happy. I want you all to know that. 
> 
> So far I'm thinking this fic will have a total of about 20 chapters. I'm writing 17 right now. So almost done!! Then I'll move to posting 2x a week!

Someone pulled Stiles left eye open, flashed a light equivalent to the _fucking sun_ directly at it, then did the same to his other eye.

“Good morning,” Isaac said, dodging as Stiles swung wildly at him, flailing his way to sitting position. 

“What?” Stiles gasped. He blinked, but everything more than a few feet away was blurry. “What?” he repeated, louder, as he relaxed. The blurs around him looked vaguely familiar. 

“You’re home, and suffering some side effects of Lydia’s newest smoke bombs.”

Stiles pressed his hand to his chest, where it felt like some pseudo-mafia type had worked him over with a bat. 

“Oh, and Derek shot you twice.”

Stiles looked at him, frowning.

Isaac was close enough that he wasn’t blurry, so it was easy to see how worried he looked. “Scott swears it was an accident. You have a bruise on your chest and stitches in your arm.” 

“It was,” Stiles croaked. He frowned, surprised at the sound of his own voice.

Isaac handed him a cup of water, which he drank gratefully.

“Thanks,” he gasped. “It _was_ an accident. He—we were in the middle of a shit storm and he—I guess he didn’t know it was me.”

“Well, Talia’s got him seeing Dr. Morell anyway. You two are grounded for the time being.” He winced as he said it, expecting an explosion probably.

Stiles shrugged. “Fine. I feel like shit anyway.”

“Oh. Right. Good.” He winced again. “I mean, not _good_ , but-”

“It’s fine. Tell me what else happened.”

“Ah. Okay. From what I’ve heard, you and Derek ran in, alone, against orders, and got confronted by OWH guards and hunters. Scott, Laura, Erica, and Cora set off a smoke bomb each. Four in such a closed place knocked you out.” Isaac smiled. “But you managed to rescue one of the kids.”

Stiles straightened up. “We did?”

He nodded. “Yeah. She’s ten, a vampire, and her name is Valerie—get this— _Boyd_. She’s Danny’s new guy’s younger sister!”

“What?” Stiles was still a little disoriented. “Boyd?”

“Yeah, he’s the new tech guy. You met him. They hadn’t even managed to tell him she was missing yet—she’s been missing five days. Their parents are on their way now.” Isaac pointed across the infirmary.

Stiles blinked hard, but still—things were blurry that far away. “Why can’t I see?” he demanded, frustrated. He couldn’t imagine being nearsighted all the time. 

“Lydia said that’ll clear up, just to rest.” Isaac poked his uninjured shoulder. “So lay down and rest.”

Stiles shook his head. “No, I’m hungry.” 

“Breakfast is going to be handed out soon.” Isaac reached around and pulled an extra pillow out from under the bed, putting it behind Stiles’s back, to help him stay upright.

“Thanks.” Stiles pulled his shirt up to look at the bruise; the Kevlar had done its job and kept him from getting any holes in his chest, spreading the force of the shot across the vest. 

It kept him from dying, basically, but the bruising spread across his chest was multicolored and painful.

Isaac cringed in sympathy. “We iced it while you were knocked out,” he said. “We didn’t want to mix pain meds with the chemicals in the smoke though.”

Stiles nodded. “Can I get some pain meds _now?_ ”

“Not until all the effects of the smoke are gone.” Isaac looked toward the door. “Here comes breakfast. I have to go help Mel—some guys have a really aggressive flu and she wants them monitored at all times.”

“’Kay. Thanks, Isaac.” 

He smiled. “You’re welcome.” 

Stiles closed his eyes after he walked away; he was starting to get a headache from squinting at everything. 

“Dude, are you sleeping _again_?” Scott demanded cheerfully. “We came all the way over here to deliver your breakfast personally and you’re sleeping on us!”

Stiles laughed. “You can lecture me when _you_ feel the side effects of something Lydia made.” He opened his eyes; the whole team was present, and mostly close enough that he could see them clearly. 

Scott set a tray across his lap. “Here, Mom says you have to eat all of this.”

“You’re all okay, right?” Stiles asked, looking at each of them.

“Yeah. Someone clipped Erica’s shoulder as we were leaving, but it was easy enough to fix.” Laura frowned at him. “How are _you_ feeling?”

“Uh, I just have a headache and my chest and arm sort of hurt.”

Erica cooed in sympathy, leaning in to brush her cheek against his. “We saw the bruises before Mel iced them.” 

Stiles picked at his breakfast, which consisted of plenty of fruit and oatmeal and some bacon that he guessed Scott had slipped on there. “Yeah, it should be fine soon. Better once they give me some ibuprofen or something.”

Derek, who’d been standing behind everyone looking solemn, finally looked up. “I’m sorry for shooting you. I hope you feel better soon.” He sounded painfully stilted.

Stiles tried not to roll his eyes. He wondered who’d made him say that—Talia or Laura? “Thanks.”

He nodded and backed away.

“He really is sorry,” Cora said earnestly when Derek had left the infirmary. “He was really freaked out the whole way back.”

Stiles nodded. “Sure, yeah.” He started eating his oatmeal to distract himself. 

Laura sighed. “So, Valerie and her parents are being taken to Alpha Ito for protection. Boyd is staying here, though, to keep working with Danny.”

“That’s good. I’m glad she’s okay.”

“You and Derek are grounded for a while. Mom said she can’t give you or Derek special treatment. You disobeyed orders.” Cora smiled sadly. “At least you’ll be healing for part of it.”

Erica turned her head. “Hmm. I think I’ll go say hello to little miss Valerie.” She kissed Stiles’s cheek, likely leaving a red lipstick mark, and left with a spring in her step. 

“We’ll leave you to rest and eat,” Laura said, looking at Stiles. “We have to meet some temporary replacements.” 

Stiles scowled. “Great. Awesome.” 

“It’ll be okay,” Scott reassured him. “It’s just until you’re better and Dr. Morell clears you both.”

“Both?”

“Well, we all know you went in to back Derek up, so it’s not a big deal,” Cora said quickly. “But Mom says you both need time and clearance before you’re allowed out again.” 

“Sure,” Stiles agreed. Really, he just wanted everyone to leave him alone. He was tired and sore, and all of this information was exhausting. 

“We’ll see you later, Stiles,” Laura said, grabbing Scott and Cora’s shoulders and pulling them away. 

Stiles sighed, relieved, and finished his breakfast in peace.

 

John came to visit him around lunchtime, when he’d been sort of waking up.

Stiles was pleased to find his vision was improving. “Hey, Dad.”

“Hey. You feeling okay?”

“Getting better.” He sat up and grimaced, resting a hand against his chest. 

“Derek told me what happened. Poor kid looked like he was going to pass out when he was telling me.”

“Oh, really?” Stiles asked. He liked to think his tone was the epitome of calculated disinterest, but the look on John’s face said he wasn’t convinced.

It just seemed like Derek was more than willing to give everyone a heartfelt apology for shooting Stiles _except_ Stiles. 

“Give him a break, kid, he feels terrible.” 

“So do I!” Stiles shook his head quickly. “No, forget I said that. He can have whatever breaks he wants.”

John sighed. “Yeah. So, while you’re injured, you’re on paperwork or lab work, but once your arm is better, you can help out in the armory or the gym—wherever you can pick up some slack. We can definitely use your help in the gym.”

Stiles’s brows rose. “Oh, really? Why?”

John sighed. “When you’re out of here, we’ll talk. Eat your lunch, kid.”

Stiles shrugged. “If you say so.” He didn’t mind for the moment—his head still felt cottony from Lydia’s smoke. He’d probably mind when he felt better.

“How’s the bruising?”

“Disgusting.” Stiles leaned back so he could lift his shirt and show him.

John winced. “Could have been worse, I guess.”

“Uh, yeah. Could’ve been a hole.” Stiles dropped his shirt and pulled his lunch tray back to him. “You can go back to whatever you were doing. My feelings won’t be hurt if you aren’t hovering. I’m probably going to go back to sleep once I’m done eating, anyway.”

“Yeah, okay. Love you, kid.”

“Love you, too.”

Melissa came to check him over after he’d eaten. She declared him “good enough” and gave him some ibuprofen. 

“Hey, how long do I have to stay here?” he asked before she left. 

“You are free to go as of tomorrow morning.” She tapped the end of his nose. “Not a minute before, pal. My spies are watching you.” 

He held his hands up. “Trust me, I’m not going anywhere.” 

“Good. No more visitors, either. Too much traffic in here.” She didn’t wait for him to respond; she just went to get another doctor. 

 

Stiles wasn’t expecting any more visitors anyway, so he went to sleep after he ate dinner. It was a surprise when someone shook him lightly in the middle of the night. 

“What?” he muttered. He rubbed his eyes and blinked, groggy. The privacy curtains had been drawn around his bed, probably sometime after he’d fallen asleep. 

The lamp on his bedside table turned on, blinding him. 

Derek stood beside him with his hands behind his back. “Hey,” he said quietly. “I tried to get back before you went to sleep, but Dr. McCall told the nightshift orderlies not to let visitors in. I had to sneak in.” 

Stiles blinked more. “Okay,” he said slowly. “Okay. So—why?”

Derek brought his hands around in front of him, revealing a mini red velvet cake on a plate with a fork resting beside it. “I really am sorry I shot you,” he said softly. “Right after, I thought I’d killed you, and that would’ve been…” He looked horrified and trailed off. 

“Not as much fun as you’ve no doubt imagined a few hundred times?” Stiles teased. 

Derek shook his head. 

“Hey, I know it was an accident.” Stiles shook his head. “You _were_ surrounded. I should’ve known better than to come up behind you.” 

“That doesn’t make me feel better. I could have killed you.” He shook his head and swallowed. “Ah, anyway. This is for you.”

“Apology cake. It does make one feel better.” Stiles took it. “Thanks. We’ll share. Get that chair.”

“I should probably go…” 

“You shot me. I think you can spare five minutes to eat cake with me.”

Derek rolled his eyes and dragged the chair closer to the bed. “You’re going to milk this, aren’t you?”

“With a _gun_ , Derek.” He stopped, though, because he couldn’t ever remember seeing Derek look so simply miserable. “Well, since you’re here…why’d you run down there against orders?” He took a bite of the cake.

“Why’d you follow me?” Derek shot back, shoulders tensing.

“We’re a _team,_ ” Stiles snapped. “I followed because we’re a team and I was right behind you, with my gear already on.” 

Derek shook his head. “Sorry. I know that.”

Stiles took a bite of cake to soothe himself. “So…why?”

Derek shrugged, not meeting his gaze. “Kids, you know.”

Stiles nodded. “Yeah, I get that.” 

“I just wish we could’ve gotten the other two out.”

“We were outnumbered. We’re lucky we made it out at all, let alone with _one_ kid.” 

“True, I guess.”

They finished the cake in the most companionable silence they’d ever shared, Stiles thought. It was nice. Probably did his blood pressure good.

 

John sprang Stiles from the infirmary bright and early, thankfully. He took him back to his place instead of Stiles’s room so they could have breakfast together. 

“So why do you guys need help in the gym?” Stiles asked, sitting carefully at the table. “Did Finstock strain something again?”

“Ah…no.” John piled eggs onto Stiles’s plate. “It’s actually Jackson.”

“Did he devour the children? Is he being exiled? Can I _watch?_ ” 

John popped him gently over the head with his spatula. “ _No._ He’s been taken to Peter’s lab to be quarantined. He’s sick, I guess.”

Stiles frowned. “Then why isn’t he in the infirmary?”

John shrugged. “Easier to keep people away from the lab, I guess.”

“What’s he sick with?”

“Do I look like a doctor to you?” John laughed. “I didn’t know you were so worried about Jackson’s wellbeing.”

Stiles sat back, wrinkling his nose. “I’m _not_. I was just curious. Okay, so who’s taking over his classes while my arm heals?”

John smiled. “Derek’s taking some, Noshiko some others. You’ll be splitting the classes once you’re better.”

“Terrific.” Stiles scratched absently at the gauze wrapped around his arm. The stitches itched, but he wasn’t supposed to touch them. 

He wasn’t inclined to look at them, either; Scott had cheerfully told Stiles that a nice chunk of his skin was blown open when John was freeing him.

Laura, also checking in, had only rolled her eyes. 

“Eat. Melissa wants you eating and sleeping as much as possible.”

“I’m _fine._ The worst is stitched up.”

“Yeah, but I know how it feels to take a bullet in one of those vests, and you were pretty close to Derek when he fired. You’re probably lucky you don’t have any broken ribs.” 

Stiles refrained from answering and ate his eggs. 

John sat at the table across from him. “You have to see Dr. Morell today. Talia thinks you’ll only have to go once, but she wants Morell to report to her if she thinks you need more.”

“I only went in to back Derek up,” Stiles muttered. 

“Talia knows—she heard you. So did the tech guys. But protocol is that for a reason. One hour and you’re free to wallow in self-pity and junk food for the rest of the day.”

Stiles sneered. “Sounds great, thanks.”

“Did you have other plans?”

“I thought maybe I’d go to the lab…”

“No.” He shook his head. “You aren’t going to bother them. Jackson is _sick_ , you can bug him later.”

Stiles huffed. “As if I was going to _bug_ him. I just want to find out what he has.”

“You can leave it alone until he’s feeling better.”

Stiles sighed. “Fine, whatever.” He poked at his eggs. 

 

Dr. Morell picked his brain delicately and professionally for the promised hour, then declared he was fit to return to the field once his grounding was lifted. She reminded him he could speak with her whenever he needed to as he was leaving. 

He left her office in a cheerful mood. His ibuprofen had kicked in, he was clear once he was done being punished, and he had stitches and bruises that kept him from training or cleaning of any kind. 

He didn’t know what he wanted to do, but he could do it, when he figured it out.

Too bad Laura caught him in the hallway. “Hey, Mom wants to talk to us.”

“Us as in the active team?” he asked hopefully.

She snorted. “You’re not that lucky. No, she wants to talk to everyone that did surveillance.”

“Ugh. Okay.” 

“How’s your arm?”

Stiles glanced down automatically, but his sleeves covered the gauze. “It’s fine. Kind of sore, I guess.”

“I thought Derek was going to pass out when Scott moved your shirt to clean the wound. He kept saying “ _again_ ”, which is really weird.”

“Again?” Stiles shook his head. “He’s never shot me before.”

Laura shrugged. “He was probably just panicking.”

Cora _almost_ hugged Stiles when she saw him, but Erica caught her shirt and pulled her back. 

“No squeezing the injured, princess.”

Cora shook herself. “Duh, right. Thanks.”

Scott and Derek arrived moments later; Scott’s hair was wet and he was crunching on a tortilla chip.

“Did we interrupt something?” Laura laughed.

Scott shrugged. “I was getting out of the shower and about to eat, no big deal.”

Talia’s office door opened. “Come in, please.” She stepped back to let them in, holding out a hand at Stiles when it was his turn. “Are you alright?”

“Yep! Dr. Morell even agrees,” he added, grinning.

“Oh, good. You’re still staying here for a while.” She closed the door once they were all inside and sitting down. “Erica, you witnessed one of the people working in that building mention a lab?” She rounded her desk and sat in front of them.

“Yeah, but we have labs, too.” Erica looked puzzled.

Talia nodded. “We have reason to believe the OWH are using their labs to experiment on supernaturals, on the prisoners they’ve been taking. Kira had been drugged through her time there, but Peter also found some chemicals in her blood that aren’t sedatives.”

“What were they?” Cora asked.

“We’re not sure what they were for.”

“Why do you think they’re experimenting?” Laura asked.

Talia sighed and pushed three stacks of paper across her desk. 

Stiles grabbed one and leaned to the side so Scott could read over his shoulder. They were pages from a news website, an article about the OWH, including an interview with an Argent cousin. 

“We don’t want to kill anyone,” she was quoted saying. “Our goal is to cure turned people—bitten werewolves and vampires, for instance—and to treat people who were born with this affliction.”

Stiles snorted, shoving the article toward Scott. “Like it’s a fucking disease.”

Talia looked at him sharply; he dipped his chin apologetically. “We don’t believe they’re actually trying to “cure” us. That,” she gestured at the article, “is most likely just to gain public support. I believe they’re just trying to find better ways to eliminate us.”

Erica shook her head. “But how does this help?” She passed the papers she and Cora had shared to Derek. 

“We’re not entirely sure, aside from getting public support. We’ve got another team doing surveillance. And…” She sighed. “And we’ve got someone on the inside.”

“You what?” Stiles looked around to see Laura’s reaction.

“She’s perfectly safe. She’s human _and_ she’s been living among other humans for almost a year. She has been working undetected at an OWH facility for weeks. She’s going to plant some bugs and things for Danny after she earns more trust.”

“Who is it?” Derek asked warily. He looked as bothered as Stiles, at least.

Talia’s gaze flicked down to her desk. “A woman from Alpha Ito’s pack. Her name is Ally Anderson.”

“Has Alpha Ito known her long?” Laura asked, brows furrowing. Her hands were clenched on top of her knees. 

“Nine years. She was a teenage runaway seeking refuge.” 

Stiles wasn’t inclined to trust people, but he knew he shouldn’t judge blindly. After all, that’s how they’d met Isaac. He just wished he could meet her and judge for himself. This woman could easily expose them, get people killed. 

“Did any of you see anything to support this theory?” Talia asked.

“Just that they seemed determined to bring the kids in alive, same as the alpha.”

“Kate Argent said they paid for the kids,” Derek said gruffly. “When we—before they set off the smoke bombs. She grabbed the boy and said they paid a lot for “it”.” 

Talia grimaced. “Okay.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Okay. Thank you. We’re going to keep monitoring the situation. Laura, please stay here for a moment so I can fill you in about your next mission.” 

“When will _that_ be?” Cora asked as Talia all but herded them out.

“Three to four days. You’ll be assisting another team. You’ll know more tomorrow.” She took the time to hug each of them, saving Stiles for last. “I don’t want to see you anywhere near the gym.”

“No problem.” He grinned.

“ _Or_ the armory.”

His smile faltered. “Well, but—the armory isn’t very strenuous.”

“No gym, no armory,” she repeated firmly.

“Okay. May I go to the labs?” he asked sweetly, fluttering his lashes.

“Only Lydia or Danny’s. Stay away from Peter’s for now.” She turned to cup Derek’s face for a moment, speaking to him in a low voice.

Erica leaned close to Stiles. “Why don’t we go grab some popcorn from my room and watch a movie?”

“What movie?”

“Something cheesy, I promise.” She laughed. “Come on, Scott will be there, and we can invite Danny.” 

Stiles shook his head. “Danny’s busy.”

Erica hummed. “Oh, I bet you could convince him to take a long break.”

Stiles shoved her away. “That was a _friendly_ thing.” He cut his gaze toward Talia; Erica held her hands up in surrender.

Talia didn’t look fooled in the least. “Go on.”

As they walked away, Erica mused, “Well, if you’re not going to invite Danny, maybe I’ll invite the new tech guy. He’s _cute_.”

“Isn’t he?” Cora asked, stepping up beside her.

“I wonder why Talia wanted to talk to Laura alone,” Stiles said when Scott fell in step with him.

Scott shrugged. “Maybe because you and Derek can’t go?”

Stiles shook his head. “Then why not just send us out and brief the rest of you guys?”

“I dunno, maybe she wants to run it by Laura first, see if she wants to accept it?”

That didn't sound right either, but Scott clearly didn't really care, so Stiles dropped it.

Maybe he was being paranoid. Laura wasn’t great at keeping secrets, so she wouldn’t be Talia’s first choice for any sensitive information, anyway.

“So, you’re helping out at the gym,” he said, glancing at Derek, who’d caught up to them.

“Yes.”

“Do you plan to do your scowl-n-growl routine for the kids, or is that a special treat just for us?” Stiles laughed when Derek’s scowl darkened. “Dude, I’m just kidding.” Then, because he couldn’t help himself, “But seriously, you might want to lighten up, you’ll make the kids cry.”

Derek didn’t reply for a while before, finally, he said, “Don’t call me dude,” and split off from the group. 

“Where’s he going?” Cora asked, turning.

Stiles shrugged, resigned. “Probably to brood in darkness and solitude or something.” And here he’d thought shooting one another was all it’d take to bring peace to the Derek-and-Stiles feud.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments make us so happy, seriously. Like. SERIOUSLY. I'm so close to being done!! Yay!! I can't wait for everyone to read the whole thing and tell me what they think. For now, I hope you like chapter five!!

Taking it easy was not a skill Stiles had ever developed. Even with a wounded arm and spectacular bruises on his chest, sitting in his room just wasn’t an option. 

After Laura, Cora, Erica, and Scott left on their mission with temporary team members (Jordan Parrish and Alexa Baker) it got worse. 

He couldn’t stay in his room any longer, so he went to help in the cafeteria, but they didn’t really want his help in there—he popped his stitches open scrubbing a pan and got blood everywhere, so they kicked him out.

Isaac repaired his stitches in his room—it was his day off, too—while Stiles pestered him to entertain him.

“What? What do you want to do?” he finally asked, finished wrapping the gauze around Stiles’s left arm.

“Anything, I’m so bored.”

“You _should_ be resting. How’s your chest?”

Stiles lifted his brows. “If you wanted me to take my shirt off, you could’ve just said so.”

Isaac scoffed and pressed his thumb into his stitches, making him yelp. 

“Okay, okay, sorry.” Stiles lifted his shirt so Isaac could poke and prod at his bruises. He suffered through it with minimal squirming. “Are you _done_ yet, Doctor?”

“’m not a doctor, and you really should’ve gone to Mel or Deaton or someone when your stitches popped.” He sighed and sat back. “Why don’t you go bug Derek?”

Stiles pouted. “Because he’s working in the gym and he doesn’t really put up with me.”

“And why do I?” Isaac grumbled.

“Because you’re my friend and I’ll spring for movie tickets if you come with me.”

Isaac groaned. “Fine. Go away so I can get dressed.”

“Thank you!” Stiles could have kissed him, but Isaac wasn’t a fan of unexpected physical contact, so he settled for waving jauntily as he backed out of the room to change his own clothes. The gory look wasn’t great for theaters. 

 

Isaac met him by the doors. Not very many people were signing out, as it was past noon but before dinner time. 

“You should be resting,” Isaac said.

Stiles leaned down to sign his name on the clipboard, winking at the girl at the desk. “Yeah, well, I’ll rest at the theater. Here you go, Dr. Worrywart.” He passed Isaac the pen and leaned back against the desk.

“Do you know what movie we’re going to see?” Isaac asked, zipping his hoodie before he leaned down to sign himself out.

Stiles shrugged and started walking. “No idea. We’ll decide when we get there.” 

Isaac sighed. 

The sidewalks weren’t overly crowded—it was a chilly, overcast day and people were doing what the general population always did on chilly, overcast days: staying in. 

Isaac tugged a scarf out of his pocket and wrapped it around his neck. “It’s cold!” he insisted when he saw Stiles frowning at him.

“I didn’t say anything.” He smirked. 

Their movie options were an action movie, a rom-com, some sci-fi horror Stiles was rooting for, or a kids’ movie. Since he’d dragged Isaac out, he let him choose.

“ _Death Watch_ looks fine,” Isaac mumbled. “I know you want to see it.” 

“We can see whatever you want,” Stiles said diplomatically. 

“It’s fine, that one sounds okay,” Isaac insisted. 

“Alright.” Stiles paid for the tickets and handed them to Isaac. “Come on, snack bar.” He ordered popcorn and a couple drinks.

Isaac leaned in and asked, “Can you add some Junior Mints and Peanut M&Ms to that?” He reached for his wallet.

Stiles batted his arm down. “No, no, I’m paying. Like a gentleman,” he added to the girl behind the counter, winking.

She laughed, pushed their snacks across the counter to them, and told them the total.

Isaac rolled his eyes, took the candy, and walked away while Stiles paid.

“Is he okay?” the cashier asked.

“Oh, yeah, he thinks I’m an idiot, it’s fine. Thanks!” he added, grabbing the drinks. He stuffed some napkins and straws into his pockets and crossed the lobby to catch up to Isaac. 

He was clutching the Junior Mints hard enough that the box was dented, his stance strange and almost poised to run.

Stiles paused beside him. “Hey, you okay?”

Isaac jumped and turned to him. “What?”

“I asked if you were okay…” He looked where Isaac had been staring, but he didn't see anything, really—just an older guy with a bucket of popcorn, a group of women beyond him, and a harried man with a group of kids running circles around his legs. 

“I’m fine,” Isaac muttered.

“Uh-huh, if you say so. Come on, let’s get seats.”

Stiles, still feeling generous and happy to be out, let Isaac pick the seats, too, and was unsurprised to find them sitting as far back as they could with their backs to the wall. 

Stiles settled in and ripped open the M&Ms, stabbing his straw into his drink.

Beside him, Isaac sat stone still, his candy resting untouched on his thigh.

Stiles was, unfortunately, what John liked to call an “interactive viewer”. He swore when characters got into trouble, slapped at the nearest arm when the high screech of violins and moody lighting warned of an impending disaster. 

That was how he knew Isaac was upset about something—he didn’t tell him to stop once.

Even _Scott_ told him to chill a couple times.

“Did you see that?” Stiles couldn’t help hissing. 

A character had just shoved a gun in the back of his pants without putting the safety on, and that was a mistake Stiles couldn’t be quiet about.

Isaac hummed noncommittally and finally, stiffly, reached for his drink and sipped from it. 

Stiles’s brows furrowed, but something exploded on screen and pulled his attention back.

The movie ended with a scream and open ending; Stiles stayed seated while other viewers trickled out. Isaac didn't seem to notice. 

“Dude,” Stiles said finally. “Are you _okay_?”

Isaac blinked slowly and turned his head. “Yes. I’m fine.”

“No, you aren’t, but I’ll let it go if you say you’re okay.”

He nodded. “I am okay.”

Stiles snorted. “Yeah, _that_ was believable.” He stood up, causing a shower of popcorn. “Heh. Guess I missed a couple.”

Isaac was tense and hyper-alert as they crossed the lobby, his eyes skipping from face-to-face. 

“Who’d you see?” Stiles asked, holding the door open for him.

Isaac sighed gustily. “Will you _please_ drop it?”

Stiles held his hands up. “Yeah, sure. Okay.” The theater door shut behind them. Stiles started walking, kept his pace easy so Isaac could catch up when he was done being annoyed.

The sidewalk was a little more crowded with people getting off work, so Isaac had to walk slightly behind Stiles to stay near when he did catch up.

A group of women approached; they were headed straight toward them and gave no indication of moving out of the way.

Stiles stepped closer to the street while he walked to let them pass.

They shifted their path to block them. 

Stiles’s hand twitched, wanting to jump back to his gun, but he held off and smiled instead. “Hello,” he said politely.

“Hey. We noticed you weren’t wearing any silver, boys,” the brunette at the front said. 

Stiles tilted his head forward. “Right, yeah. Silver doesn’t go with my outfit.” He laughed. “Look, that’s a stupid fad and I’m not wearing jewelry because you’re bigots.” 

“Then you won’t mind proving that you’re human.” The brunette seemed to be the leader. She took out a shiny silver knife and held it out. The gleam in her eye made it more of a threat than a suggestion.

Stiles stepped forward; her grip on her knife was loose, so when his shoulder hit it, it glanced off his jacket and to the side. She pulled back automatically, faltering.

“No thanks,” he said. “If you’ll excuse us, we have somewhere to be.” 

“No. Maybe you misunderstood us.” She pulled her shoulders back again, regaining her confidence. “Prove that you’re human or we’ll _make_ you prove it.”

“Really?” Stiles asked, a grin stretching his lips.

Isaac closed his hand around Stiles’s left wrist, squeezing gently. 

“Look, you’re clearly human, sweetheart,” a blonde at the brunette’s shoulder said to Isaac. “So you have nothing to worry about.” She held out her own knife.

Isaac hesitated, tilting his head slightly to glance at Stiles. “Maybe-”

“No. Even if we were supernaturals, it’s not illegal to be. So you can all _back off._ ” Stiles slid his hand up, laced his fingers with Isaac’s, felt the tremble in them. “We don’t negotiate with bullies. Back off.”

The blonde looked at their linked hands and curled her lip. She lifted the knife higher. “You’re not going anywhere without-”

Stiles slapped the brunette’s knife out of her hand and pulled out his own. “Back off,” he repeated. “You don’t want to fight.”

The others didn’t seem to know what to make of the situation, their leader disarmed and their victims calmly ready to fight.

The blonde’s eyes narrowed, her grip tightening on her knife.

Stiles’s grin widened. 

Isaac whipped out a butterfly knife and flipped it open with obvious skill. He was pretty good with it, considering he was a non-combative human. 

“Whatever,” the brunette spat. “Animals,” she added, stomping off to the side.

Her group followed.

“Come on,” Stiles muttered.

“What if they-?”

“No. Come on.” Stiles tightened his grip on Isaac’s hand and pulled him along. 

“Where are we going?” he asked, trying to look over his shoulder. 

Stiles jerked his arm hard enough that he turned back around. “Don’t look back, keep walking.” His arm throbbed, pain radiating from his wound—his pain meds must have worn off in time for this. 

Stiles speed-walked them to a motel that was backed up against sparse trees; his shoulders were tight with the knowledge that they were being followed. 

“Stiles—why—?” Isaac asked, digging his heels in as they reached the Blue Peak Motel.

Stiles turned to face him, frustrated. “If we were followed, we can’t go home,” he said shortly. “And we _were_ followed.”

“But-”

“Just a few more minutes.” Stiles tugged him into the motel lobby, plastering on a grin. “Hey, we just need a room.”

“How many beds?” the receptionist asked on a sigh.

“Just the one.” Stiles smirked and lifted his and Isaac’s hands. “First floor preferable.”

“Then you’ll be in nonsmoking.”

“Perfect.”

Stiles jittered his fingers against the desk while the man set them up for one night.

“Here’s your key, room 110,” he said, sliding the key across the desk. 

“Thanks!” Stiles swiped the keycard and pulled Isaac back out of the door. 

“Stiles, why are we here?” Isaac asked in an undertone.

Stiles eyed the group of people walking toward them with distrust. “I’ll tell you in the room,” he mumbled.

“Okay,” Isaac whispered. He’d noticed the group, too.

Stiles located room 110 and opened it. “Shut the door,” he ordered, stalking across the floor. He closed the curtains and turned every light on. “Isaac, go turn on the shower,” he said, fiddling with the A/C. Once it was blasting cold air, he flipped the TV on and turned the volume up. 

“Why? You said you’d explain,” Isaac added as he turned the shower on. 

“I will. They followed us, though, so we have to move.” He closed the bathroom door once Isaac had stepped out. “Come _on._ ”

“I didn’t see those women anywhere.”

“They brought some guys, too, and we’re way outnumbered.” He nudged Isaac to the door. 

“Now where?” Isaac sighed. 

“To the other side. Danny taught me how to get into these rooms without a key.”

“ _Why?_ ”

“For these incidents.”

“Do you cause trouble _every_ time you go out?” Isaac breathed.

“No, but giving in just makes them more confident, gives them the self-confidence to do it again.” He pulled the door shut behind them and led the way to an unoccupied room four doors down and across from the one he’d rented. “Just keep watch while I get the door open.”

“Sure, okay. Why aren’t we just leaving?”

Stiles just grunted, focusing on the door. He silently thanked Danny when it popped open. “C’mon.”

“Why didn’t we just _leave_?” Isaac asked again, once they were in the darkened room.

“Because they might see us again and follow us. Come on, we’re going out the bathroom window.”

“We’re what?”

After Isaac was on the ground outside, spotting Stiles, he heard the muted _bang!_ of someone kicking in a door down the hall. He grunted his way through the climb, the undignified wiggling, and flopping that came with tumbling out of a window, his eyes tearing as he bumped his stitches against the window frame. 

He leaned over his knees once he was outside, breathing through his teeth. He’d hit his chest against the sill as he slid down and the pain was stunning.

Isaac put a hand on his back. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. They just kicked in the door down the hall so we have to go.”

“Uh-huh, yep. Whenever you’re ready, grandpa.”

Stiles shot a glare at him and straightened up with an effort. “Yeah, thanks.” 

They started walking again, toward home. Stiles led the way on a looping, complicated route, paranoid that they were being followed again, though this time he didn’t feel the insistent press of eyes on the back of his neck.

“How’d you know?” Isaac asked.

“Huh?”

“That they were following us,” he clarified.

“Oh. They just seemed like the type, and it’s protocol to check into a motel if we have a confrontation. That way if we’re followed, they only see us go to a motel, even if they aren’t the type to start a real fight. Those ones were aggressive enough that I thought we’d be better really taking off.”

Isaac shook his head. “I thought I was paranoid.”

“Yeah, that reminds me, where the hell did you get that knife?” Stiles asked, elbowing him playfully. “And where’d you learn to use it?”

“I’ve had it since before the Pack took me in,” he muttered. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Huh. The more you know, I guess.”

“You’re wheezing, are you okay?”

“Fine. The running and the climbing.” He flapped his hand. “I’m fine. We’re fine.” He glanced sideways at him. “Sorry for dragging you out.”

Isaac shrugged. “At least I wasn’t bored, I guess. But I think on my next day off, I’m just going to stay in my room and rest.”

Stiles snorted. “That sounds safe.”

“Why do you and Cora say _safe_ like it’s a bad thing?” Isaac demanded. 

“Do we?” Stiles asked absently. “I didn’t notice.”

They signed back in with a different person at the desk, which wasn’t unusual—they’d been gone for a few hours.

“Hey.” Stiles caught Isaac’s arm. “Are you alright? Really?”

Isaac jerked his shoulders. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just not used to the outside anymore.”

“That isn’t-” he cut himself off. “Okay. Thanks for coming with me.”

“Thank you. I’ll see you later, Stiles.”

Stiles sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face, wincing when his arm and chest throbbed in time with each other. 

He just needed some painkillers and a freaking nap.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeeee I hope everyone likes this chapter! :D

The next day started with John standing over Stiles while he slept. He yelped and came up swinging when he woke.

John caught his fists. “You’re going to hurt yourself,” he said placidly. 

“Ugh, Dad. That key is for _emergencies._ Abuse of power,” Stiles groaned, flopping back. 

“You didn’t tell me you got in some trouble yesterday.”

Stiles sighed and sat up again. He rubbed his gritty eyes. “Well, no one got hurt, they were just civilians, and Isaac was being kind of weird about everything.” He frowned at John. “Apparently not weird enough not to tell you about it…”

John shook his head. “He was talking to Derek.”

“And you were eavesdropping?”

“I was not!”

“Right, perish the thought. But, yet, here we are.” Stiles yawned. “Did you wake me up to lecture me? Because I followed protocol and I fought no one.” He wiggled his left shoulder. “Bum wing, remember?”

John ruffled his hair. “No, I didn’t come to lecture you. I came to make sure you were alright and to ask that you keep your outtings to a three person minimum.”

“Three?” Stiles gaped. “But I can only get _maybe_ one person to tolerate me at once, how do I con _two_ people into coming?”

“Son, that’s not true and you know it,” John said patiently.

Stiles wasn’t sure _how_ he knew, but he just _knew_ what John was trying to get around to. “No, no, I’m not-”

“He feels guilty, Stiles, and you avoiding him is making it worse.”

Stiles scoffed. “I’m not avoiding him, I’m going about my life as usual. I have no plans to go out again anyway, so it’s moot. Yesterday was lesson enough.”

“So what _are_ your plans for today?”

“Going to see if Lydia needs help in the lab.” Or he was now, anyway.

John sighed. “Okay.”

“Great. Well, I better get dressed. Yep. For the lab.”

“You do that, son.”

Stiles yelled into his pillow for a minute after John left, because on the list of merits to having his own space, being able to have a tantrum in peace was in the top five. _Then_ he got dressed. 

Lydia stuffed him into a smock, goggles, and gloves as soon as he walked in. “We’re shorthanded,” she snapped.

Her bad-temper probably came from Jackson’s quarantine. Stiles felt guilty for trivializing it once he saw how upset she was. As _much_ as he thought she could do better, Lydia did love Jackson. They’d been together since they were teenagers and there seemed to be no end in sight. 

“Wherever you need me,” he said graciously.

He ended up at a table with a microscope, dripping donated werewolf blood onto slides and sprinkling silver powder onto it, then noting the results. 

Lydia was across the lab building something that reeked of sulfur and kept giving off puffs of pink smoke that looked interesting. Stiles got to watch blood cells become sick as he put silver on them. There was definitely an imbalance here.

He’d just gotten a rhythm going, accepting his fate, when someone sat next to him and startled him.

He found Derek beside him and jerked again, trying to pull the silver powder away. “Dude! What are you doing? This is silver dust…” He blinked. “Why are you here?” he asked, cupping his hands over the silver.

“Thought you could use some company.” Derek pulled a protective mask over his mouth and nose, settled just under his goggles. “What’re you doing?”

Stiles eyed him suspiciously. “Lydia wants to see the reactions silver gets from werewolf blood and compare them to the reactions from werewolf blood, her additive, and the silver.” 

“Does she think she figured out how to make it safe?”

“Probably, but she wants to test it before anyone volunteers to be guinea pigs.” Stiles observed the mask. “Don’t get poisoned,” he said. “I don’t want to be blamed if you get sick.”

Derek rolled her eyes. “I’m not an idiot, and I’m sure you’d _love_ to see me with silver sickness. It’d be karma,” he added, gesturing at Stiles.

“Shut up, that’s not funny. Here, take a slide. You can test the beta blood.” He pushed some slides to Derek’s side of the table. If he was determined to hang around, then he could be useful.

 

“You’ve been here four hours.” Lydia’s ominous voice came from behind them, making Stiles jolt. “Go get something to eat.”

Stiles had moved on to filling pellets with paralytic fluid about an hour ago, and Derek had followed him; this time it was Stiles wearing the heavy protection, as the fluid wouldn’t really have much effect on Derek.

“I’ve barely been doing anything,” he protested, tongue between his teeth. “We’re almost done.”

“If you don’t leave, _now_ , I’m never letting you help again.”

Stiles’s head snapped up.

Lydia’s hair was bound back tighter than normal and she had a sealed pack of sterile scrubs under her arm.

Stiles jumped to his feet. “Are you okay? Did something spill?”

She shook her head. “No. I’m going to visit Jackson. I can’t supervise you guys while I do that.”

“You’ve been supervising us?” Derek asked, barely lifting his head.

“I can multitask,” she said dismissively. “But now I can’t and you haven’t had lunch yet anyway. Shoo.” 

Stiles set his tools down; he’d jumped up with the empty pellet and injector clutched in his hands. “Okay, if you say so.”

“I do.”

He nodded to appease her and stripped off his gloves. “Then we’re going to grab some lunch. Want us to bring anything back for you?”

Her shoulders relaxed. “I’ve got protein bars in my desk, thanks.”

“Burrito it is,” he replied cheerfully.

“Don’t you bring a burrito in here, Stiles,” she said sternly. 

Stiles held his hands up, backing away. “No burrito. Got it.” He turned to the door, where Derek was already waiting.

“Do you annoy everyone?” Derek asked, dropping his gloves in the bin by the door.

“Only the people I consider worthy. God, I’m _starving_ , how did I not notice this before?” He clutched his stomach and nudged the door open with his hip. “Hey, you never said why you were in the lab,” he remembered as they walked down the hall.

“Yes I did.”

“No, you said you thought I could use company, which was so completely out of character that I thought it was code.”

Derek scoffed and huffed and stomped ahead of him like the big bad wolf. “Never mind.”

Stiles remembered what John had said about Derek feeling guilty. He groaned and rolled his head back. “Wait up,” he called, jogging after him. “I’m too hungry to cook something, let’s go eat in the cafeteria.”

“Let’s?” Derek’s brows lifted.

“Sure,” Stiles said, choosing to act like Derek had invited him. 

 

Stiles spotted Isaac eating with Kira Yukimura after he bought his lunch; he nudged Derek and nodded at their table. 

“Hi!” Kira said brightly when Derek and Stiles approached with their trays.

“Hey. You look better,” Stiles replied, because tact was not a skill he possessed. 

“I’d hope so,” she laughed. “Isaac’s keeping me company so I don’t have to eat alone. He was telling me about the other people who have been going missing.”

“That’s fun mealtime conversation,” Stiles said. He set his tray beside Isaac’s and sat down, hissing through his teeth when he bumped his arm.

“Oh, no, I—he didn’t bring it up, I asked,” Kira said quickly. “Because it seems like they’re mostly taking alphas, but then…why take me? Or that little girl, Valerie?”

Stiles shrugged. “Alphas are more confident of themselves, so they aren’t usually surrounded when they go out. Maybe it’s just opportunity.”

“Are your parents considering staying here?” Derek asked Kira pointedly.

Stiles glanced at Isaac. “Hey.”

“I’m _fine_.”

Stiles held his hands up. “I didn’t ask!”

Isaac huffed. “Is your arm okay?” he asked grudgingly.

“Yep. All good.” He frowned, studying Isaac’s furrowed brows. He looked worried. “Dude, what’s going on?”

“I’m not really sure,” he admitted. He glanced around. “A team came back in wounded overnight. Their leader is an alpha, and she bit the injured human so it would heal his wounds, which…it did, but…” 

Stiles _tsk_ ed sympathetically. “Did he not make it?” They all knew it was possible to die if a person’s body rejected the bite.

“Well…yes, I mean, he’s…alive. He didn’t reject the bite, really. But he didn't seem to take to it either. Talia moved him immediately. Maybe he was going to reject it and she wants to make sure he’s somewhere safe? But I don’t get it. Why move him? We’ve dealt with bite rejection before.” 

Stiles nodded slowly. “Do you know where she moved him?”

A guilty flush spread over Isaac’s face. “Well, no. She was talking to Melissa and I just sort of…caught some of it.”

“Huh.” Stiles looked at his tray. He suddenly wasn’t all that hungry anymore. It’d be suspicious if he didn’t eat, though. He sighed and, with an effort, made himself eat his lunch.

“Hey, man,” Boyd said, approaching the table with a tray of his own. “I didn’t get a chance to thank you for bringing Val back.”

Danny came up behind him, already chewing on an apple slice.

“Just doing my job. Sit down,” he added, glancing at the rest of the table for confirmation.

Kira nodded eagerly, shifting down the bench so she was sitting directly across from Derek.

“I’m glad we got her. And I can’t take—well, any credit, actually. Scott had to carry me out because I fainted.”

Boyd and Danny sat down next to each other; once he was seated, Danny said, “Lydia’s smoke bombs are no joke.” A smile flicked over his face. “Stiles, were you in the lab with Lydia?”

“Ye-es?”

“You’ve got goggles on your head,” Danny laughed, reaching over to pull them off.

Stiles flushed. “Thanks,” he muttered.

“I’m going to get Lydia something to eat,” Derek said, standing abruptly. 

Stiles just shook his head when Kira shot him a curious look.

“So, how is your sister? I haven’t seen her since that day.”

Boyd smiled. “She’s okay, a little shaken up, but Danny let her help us out in his lab, so that cheered her up. She and our parents are moving to Alpha Ito’s faction today for sanctuary.”

Isaac had to leave first, and Stiles figured he’d better go before Derek got Lydia a _salad_ or something, so he said bye to everyone and left with him.

“I’m going to find out about that guy,” he muttered.

“How?” Isaac demanded. “Do you _want_ to get in more trouble?”

“ _More_ trouble?”

“Well, you’re still technically grounded for going against orders. And Derek’s…”

“Derek’s what?”

“Also grounded,” he said from behind them, making Isaac jump.

“What’d you get Lydia?” Stiles asked suspiciously. 

“A panini and apple chips.”

Damn. That was pretty good. “Fine. Let’s go.”

Isaac waved halfheartedly. 

“He told me what happened yesterday. You two shouldn’t have gone out alone.”

“I’m twenty-fucking-four,” Stiles said pleasantly. “I can go out whenever I want.”

“You could have gotten hurt, or gotten Isaac hurt-”

Stiles snorted, remembering Isaac and his knife. “Okay.”

“You should’ve just proven to them that-”

Stiles stopped walking and spun on his heel so they were face to face. “I won’t. They’ll have to pin me down if they want to prove I’m human, because I won’t _ever_ negotiate with bigots.” 

Derek’s expression softened. “But-”

“No.” Stiles threw his hands up. “ _No_. I refuse to argue, especially about this. I know I’m _only human_ , but I can protect myself and anyone else who needs it. Isaac’s still in one piece and I’m no more bruised than I already was.” He marched ahead, but he waited for Derek at the door. 

The lab was hushed; everyone was doing their own thing and working hard. There were still fewer people than usual, probably still assisting Peter. Lydia was nowhere in sight.

Stiles looked at the door to Peter’s lab and glanced around, a smirk curling the corner of his mouth.

He _did_ have the perfect excuse to go in there—Lydia needed to eat. “C’mon,” he said, jerking his head. 

Derek followed him, either oblivious to Stiles’s motives or curious enough to come along, Stiles wasn’t sure which. He opened the door carefully this time, wary of alerting anyone. Derek slipped in right behind him, so close Stiles could feel his breath on the back of his head. 

Everyone in here was working, too, but mostly on liquids; Stiles spotted Peter standing at an observation window beside Lydia, whose hair looked distinctly mussed, partially loosed from her pins. Stiles frowned, leaning to the side to see around them; he jumped when something slammed into the glass and crawled over it, disappearing again in seconds.

“What the fuck was that?” he demanded.

Derek sighed loudly.

Everyone turned to stare at them. Peter looked resigned; Lydia’s bloodshot eyes widened. 

“Well, you’d might as well come all the way in. Adam, get Derek a mask, please.” Peter beckoned them forward. 

Stiles didn’t want to get any closer to whatever was beyond that glass. “How do you know it’ll hold?” Stiles demanded, pressing his shoulders back against Derek until he was forced to take a step back.

“Because I made it,” Peter replied. “He’s not getting out.”

“He?” Stiles asked, intrigued despite himself. God, one day he was going to get eaten.

Something long and wickedly curved struck at the glass, which didn’t have so much as a scratch.

Stiles looked at Lydia’s miserable expression and stepped forward automatically. “Wait. Is that _Jackson?_ ”

The…thing…dropped down from the ceiling and started prowling around its—his?—cell. It looked like a large, ugly lizard.

Stiles’s eyes widened and he stepped forward unwittingly; he clearly had zero self-preservation instincts, but he just had to get a closer look.

“Yes,” Lydia said bitterly. “That’s Jackson. He has lucid times, but they’re rare.”

“How—how—?” Last he’d checked, Jackson was _human_.

She scrubbed her cheeks. “He put in a request for the bite. Talia approved it a few days ago and one of the alphas here—Taylor, I think—agreed to take him into their pack—but something just…went wrong.” She looked at Peter.

“We need to let Talia know that Derek and Stiles know,” he said quietly.

She nodded. “I’ll go.”

While she wove around everyone to get to the door, Peter turned off the light that allowed them to see into Jackson’s cell. Adam pressed a mask into Derek’s hands as they passed him. 

Derek furrowed his brows, but he put it on anyway, hooking the straps behind his ears. It wasn’t cute.

“Jackson’s body didn’t accept the bite, but as you can see, it didn’t reject it like we’re used to, either. We’ve had three like this over the course of the year so far. A man yesterday made four. All four have different symptoms, with varying lucid periods.”

“What symptoms? Turning into a giant _lizard_ is a symptom?” Stiles asked incredulously. 

“Among other things. Mental deterioration, fever, rage, unrecognizable shifts.” Peter glanced over his shoulder. “Though the lizard is new. The others look like mutated wolves.” 

“Who else is here?” Stiles asked, crossing his arms.

“Jackson Whittemore, Jeff Todd, Sara Barry, and Penny Gomez,” Peter recited. “All around their mid-twenties.”

Stiles looked at the closed doors. “So—so…I don’t understand what’s going on. Why is this being hidden from everyone? Shouldn’t we _know_ this is happening?”

“Sometimes the bite does something unexpected,” Peter replied. “Before we were out to the general public, incidents like this would be handled by the alpha directly.”

“ _How?_ ”

“By killing them,” Derek murmured. “Right?”

Peter shrugged. “It explains why we know next to nothing about this. These reactions would have been rare and dangerous for cover.”

“So—what are you doing now?” Stiles demanded. He couldn’t help looking at Jackson’s cell again.

“We’re trying to find a cure or treatment, and keep people safe. They’re dangerous.” Peter ran a hand through his hair. 

“But you’ve been telling people they’re _sick_ ,” Stiles felt compelled to point out.

“They are, in a way.”

“Who was first?” Derek asked.

Peter sighed. “That’d be Sara.” He beckoned them and walked to the first cell, flipping on the light. “Sara’s having a good day.”

Sara looked no older than Stiles, though he didn’t really recognize her. She was pacing the length of her cell, picking at her left arm absently as she did. Her brown hair was knotted and lank. 

“This is a good day?” Stiles asked warily.

Sara stopped pacing and looked toward the window. Her eyes were an intense, sick yellow—not quite the gold that beta werewolves’ eyes glowed. 

“Yes. Do you see fangs?” Peter sighed then. “She’s healthy, physically, but a fever spikes occasionally and she loses herself. Then there’s the rage fits, which manifest in the odd shifts she has, and raving.” 

Sara walked closer to the window, pressing her hand flat against it. 

“What’s she doing?” Derek asked.

“Listening, I believe. Watch. Adam,” Peter called. 

In the cell, Sara’s head turned, her eyes glowing brighter. 

Adam approached; he kept his gaze away from the window. “Yes?”

“Have you checked that new mixture today?”

Adam turned to the clipboard he’d brought. “Yes. The injection you gave her yesterday didn’t help; she got angry, ripped apart the table we’d given her.”

“Really? I didn’t see any wounds.”

Adam’s mouth twisted. “They healed.”

Stiles noticed that Sara pressed her hand harder against the glass every time Adam spoke.

Peter nodded. “That’s not surprising. She was given the bite, she exhibits some wolfish behavior.”

Adam just shrugged. “The only thing that really helps is the tranqs.”

“She doesn’t sleep,” Peter said to Stiles and Derek. “The others have been, but Sara hasn’t slept in a few months.” 

Stiles rubbed his forehead. “Okay. I—okay, you’re trying to help these people—right? So _why_ keep it a secret?”

“They’re using vampire blood to try to cure the patients,” Derek growled. “Aren’t you?”

Stiles dropped his hands. “What? _What?_ ”

“I can smell it. Why are you using _vampire_ blood?” Derek demanded. 

“Peter is trying to help them,” Adam snapped. “He’s trying _many_ different things as a treatment, including vampire blood, which has healing and transformative properties.”

Stiles held his hands out. There was one thing he was worried about, and he kept getting distracted. “Why is this being kept a secret?” He glanced over his shoulder at Derek, who was staring toward the door.

“That’s my fault,” Talia said cautiously. “Come with me, and I can explain.”

Stiles’s head turned to track the movement he caught; Sara had pulled her hand back off the glass. He flinched when she punched it. 

“Ignore her,” Adam murmured. “She’ll do that for a while.”

“Fine.” Derek crossed his arms. “Where’d you get the vampire blood?” He shot the question at his mother rather than Peter.

“Me and another donor,” Adam snapped.

Peter dropped a hand on his shoulder. “Talia will explain. For now, I need to take care of these patients. Sara needs another tranquilizer, Adam. Go get it ready.”

Sara kept slamming her fist into the glass, blood smearing it and her knuckles. Her eyes were focused, too, like she was trying to get to something. 

Stiles looked back at Talia. 

She sighed. “Come with me,” she repeated. 

Derek glanced at Stiles the same second he looked at him.

“Okay,” Stiles said, straightening his shoulders. Sometime after he’d noticed Sara, his shoulders had curled in, muscles locking down warily. He took a breath and crossed the lab with his chin up.

All the scientists had halted their work, which now made sense, if Talia had been telling everyone to keep things a secret and to prioritize treating these patients. Peter had been pulling Lydia’s coworkers away one by one, asking for help and to keep the secret. 

“We’ll talk in my office,” Talia murmured.

Derek snorted angrily. 

Stiles kept pace with Talia, but Derek stayed a step behind, silently fuming, if the tension along his jaw and brow line was any indication. 

Stiles watched Talia from the corner of his eye. _She_ didn’t look angry, just upset, and that could only be discerned from the downturned corners of her mouth, the faint wrinkle between her brows. It was similar to Derek’s displeased expression, actually, which Stiles was extremely familiar with.

 

Ian was in Talia’s office, leaning over her desk with his back to the door while he wrote something down. As she passed him, Talia trailed her fingers up his back, a touch he leaned into. She sat behind her desk and took a moment fidgeting with things before finally looking up at them.

“What the hell?” Stiles blurted.

Talia inhaled sharply. “Derek, please close the door,” she said.

Ian grimaced and rounded the desk to stand behind her chair. The look on his face made Stiles think he already knew what they were there to talk about.

Stiles thought they looked like a queen and her guard, but he couldn’t tell if that was his imagination projecting or if they’d posed like that on purpose. 

“Why have you been keeping this a secret?” Stiles asked. He sat in the seat nearest the desk, braced on the edge and ready to leap up any second.

“We haven’t told anyone because we don’t know how to _fix it_ yet,” Talia replied.

Ian added, “And with Sara, we thought it was just her.”

“But there were three others _after_ that.”

“We wanted to find a cure—a treatment,” Talia corrected, wincing. “A treatment for it before we caused people to panic. Alphas Ito and Santos know, and we’re preparing to tell _all_ of the alphas within the Pack.” 

“But-” Stiles shook his head, trying to organize his thoughts. “But why keep it a secret? If you _told_ everyone, you could put a hold on all bite requests until you resolve this.”

“People would panic,” Ian said. “It’s bad enough that some people die from the bite. This…this is worse.”

Stiles held up a hand. “So, what, you’re worried people will stop wanting the bite, or you’re worried they’ll leave?” 

Talia inhaled through her nose. “We’re worried this might get out somehow and the OWH will use it as an excuse for keeping us locked up like animals _at least._ ”

Stiles swallowed thickly. “Right.”

“No.”

Stiles twisted to look at Derek. “What?”

“You are _letting Peter experiment on them._ That’s _just as bad_ as the OWH,” he spat.

“Derek, he has to test out the treatments on them,” Ian said soothingly. “It’s the only way to know if they’ll work.”

Derek shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. He didn’t say anything else, but it was clear that was only because he’d made up his mind.

“I think you should tell people,” Stiles said tentatively.

“We will. We just want to have something _to_ tell them, aside from…that. Peter’s getting close, he is.”

“Vampire blood?” Stiles asked doubtfully, flicking half a glance toward Derek.

“It brought Penny’s fever down, actually, made her coherent for a while, but it wore off.” Talia sighed, rubbing her forehead. “I’ll speak to Satomi and Yolanda,” she said. “They’ve also wanted to keep it quiet until we reversed it.”

“It’s just…” Stiles sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, then let it back out. “It never ends well,” he said slowly, “when the leaders keep stuff from the people that follow them. It’s always with good intentions, but that never changes the outcome.” 

“You’re right,” Ian said. “And we’ve thought about that, too. We’ll start by telling the alphas. Then we speak to Ito and Santos about telling everyone else.” 

Since they claimed that had been their plan from the beginning anyway, Stiles couldn’t think of a reason to argue.

“Do you know…if this has happened before? Here?”

The quickly concealed grimace on Ian’s face told Stiles the answer, but he kept looking at Talia. Her face didn't move.

“It’s likely that older alphas did what they’d always done when this happened in the past: they killed the person and claimed it was bite rejection.”

 

Stiles took a moment outside of the office to just…breathe. It was weird. Everything was _weird_. Had the Pack been keeping other secrets like this? They were supposed to be the good guys, better than the OWH. Wasn’t hiding something like _this_ just as bad?

“I’m going to the gym,” Derek snarled, stomping away.

“Sure, I’ll just go ice my fucking chest.” Stiles spun on his heel and stalked in the other direction. He’d been asked, expressly, not to tell _anyone_ about this until the Alphas discussed it, which meant Stiles had no one to talk to about it.

The only other person who knew had just left to have a hissy fit in the gym. Stiles scrubbed his face, frustrated, until he remembered Jackson. Derek wasn’t the _only_ one he could talk to about this.

Lydia saw his face when he burst into the lab and crossed quickly. “Whatever you’re about to say, just think it over first.”

He took a deep breath, which only served to piss him off further, because it hurt his chest when he did that. “I—just need to talk,” he said through his teeth.

“I can see that.” Her eyes flitted over his face. “Alright,” she said abruptly. “Let me just put my things away.” 

“Thanks.”

She nodded and walked away, slipping her lab coat off.

 

Lydia’s room was nearer the lab than Stiles’s, so they went there. She had wine and Jackson’s crazy-expensive whiskey, which Stiles had to try, because he knew it’d burn Jackson’s ass that he had.

“Okay,” she said, sliding her shoes off and curling her legs under her on the couch. “Let’s have it.”

Stiles shook his head. “No, I think I want—tell me what’s going on with you, about Jackson.”

“Why?” she asked suspiciously. 

“Because I guess…Talia and Ian think they’re doing the right thing by keeping Jackson and the others a secret. I don’t agree, but I want to know what you think.”

She lifted a brow. “What’s this? Stiles Stilinski gathering data _before_ he decides what’s right?”

He scowled. “They asked us to keep this a secret. It seems like a bad choice. Talk to me.”

She sipped her wine and lifted a shoulder. “Alright. Well, Jackson put in a bite request, it got approved, and he went to accept the bite. When it took, something…happened.” She waved her hand. “They didn’t give me the details, but I’ve surmised that it went wrong immediately. Some bittens will shift immediately after they receive the bite, which must have happened to Jackson. They took him to Peter directly.” She sighed. “And I suppose I’m glad no one else knew about it because—did you see him?”

“I did.”

“If you’d come across him like that, would _you_ hesitate?”

Stiles grimaced. “I don’t know.”

She nodded. “Well, I do. You and every other person here was trained to protect and defend.”

“Okay. So—you think it’s okay for them to keep this from everyone?”

“I think it’s complicated. And that they should tell everyone soon, but not too soon.” She lifted her shoulders. “We don’t know how to fix it, what causes it, or how often it could happen. Going to the public with so little information is just asking for panic.”

Stiles ran his hand through his hair. “That makes sense,” he muttered. 

She patted his knee. “Of course it does.” She sighed quietly. “Well, since we’re here, I’ve got some chocolate fudge brownie ice cream and _Firefly_ on DVD.”

“Is that a bribe?”

“That’s the only reason I bought the DVDs.”

“Bribe accepted.” He set his cup aside and got up to help. “Hey, thanks.”

She nodded. “I wanted to tell people, too, you know. Right when I found out, I thought that keeping it a secret was a terrible idea. But,” she said, inhaling, “that was an emotional response.” 

“That’s understandable.” Stiles rubbed his cheek. He looked over his shoulder. He thought he should go find Derek, but Derek was the one who’d taken off by himself.

Plus, chocolate fudge brownie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? ;D


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooo chapter seven! We're getting there. :D I'm excited to share, as usual. Please enjoy!

Stiles went to Peter’s lab. He didn’t know where else to go—he was one of few people who knew about the “quarantined” people, so he felt obligated to help. Plus, he didn’t have to try to keep his mouth shut about it in there. 

“Stiles,” Adam greeted tiredly. “What do you need?”

“I can help,” he said. “Please?”

Adam sighed. “Alright. Come on. Peter’s over there, he’ll tell you where you can help out.” He led Stiles through the lab, weaving around tables and stools. 

Peter was standing in front of a cell, scribbling on a clipboard and checking on the inhabitant of the cell every few lines.

Adam stopped a few feet away. “Um, Stiles-” he began awkwardly.

“I heard. Thank you, Adam.” Peter looked at Stiles and frowned. “I’m observing Penny today. You can grab a clipboard and record what you see for a few hours.” He saw the face Stiles made and shook his head. “I need help observing today.” 

Stiles sighed and looked around; beside the window of each cell hung a clipboard with vague notes scribbled on them. “Alright…” He went to Jackson’s window; he felt less guilty watching Jackson lose his mind than he did watching anyone else, so it was the best choice. He grabbed the clipboard, glancing at it, and flicked on the light. He jumped back with a yelp. “Jesus! Can he see through the glass?” he asked, hand pressing to his heart.

“No, but he can hear. Jackson’s having a good day. He took his tranq orally,” Peter mused. “He probably recognized your voice and came to try and see you.” 

Jackson’s eyes were the same sick yellow Sara’s had been, his gaze vacant and mouth hanging open slightly. Seeing him like that made Stiles feel a distant sort of sympathy, which was the best he could muster up.

“Okay then.” Stiles shook his head and wrote it down. 

Observation work was _dull_. Jackson was having a “good” day, which meant he was pacing his cell in human form, picking at his arms and occasionally mumbling to himself. 

The next time the door opened, it was Derek; he ignored Stiles and went straight to Peter. “How can I help?”

Peter sighed. “Grab a clipboard, pick Jeff or Sara. We’re watching their behavior today. You and Stiles are only staying another two hours. People will begin to wonder why you’re here.”

“We’re grounded,” Derek pointed out. “We have to help out somewhere.”

“And they’ll wonder why it’s here and not somewhere else. Besides, Stiles shouldn’t overexert himself. And aren’t you supposed to be helping out in the gym?” Peter asked sharply. 

“I already helped out, and Noshiko has the rest of the classes covered.” Derek snatched the clipboard from beside Jeff’s window and flipped the light on. 

Stiles shrugged and turned back to Jackson, who was scraping the skin off his arm, watching it bleed, heal, and then doing it again. “Peter,” he called. “Should we stop him?”

“No, he likes doing that,” Peter replied quietly. “Every time we stop him, he can’t quite get ahold of himself.” He turned back to Penny, who howled miserably from her cell. 

Penny, according to Peter, was having a bad day, which meant that she’d went into one of her weird shifts and started acting out.

“Peter, we have something,” Paige said, sitting up. “You said you wanted to try this one today. It could help Jackson calm down.” She held up a syringe full of thin pinkish liquid.

“He’s calm,” Stiles said, though he wasn’t sure why. Jackson clearly was not calm or okay in any way, but Stiles didn’t think anyone should be injected with…that. 

“It’s just a little bit of blood,” Peter said soothingly. “It could heal him.”

“Or make him like Jeff?” Derek suggested. He looked nauseated.

Stiles turned his head, but he couldn’t see what Derek was seeing in Jeff’s cell. It couldn’t be good. 

“You two offered to help,” Peter snapped. “If you’re going to hinder our progress, then you can leave.”

“What is it supposed to do?” Stiles asked.

Peter tipped his head at Paige.

“It should help them regain themselves a little,” she said quickly. “If it does, then we can try stronger doses, see if it brings them back all the way. Even on their good days, they barely remember who they are. They remember people important to them, but I think that’s just…anchoring, on their good days.”

“What do you mean?” Derek asked slowly.

“Jackson asks for Lydia sometimes.”

“ _Asks?_ ” Stiles repeated, looking over his shoulder. 

The man in the cell didn’t look capable of speech to him.

“Oh, yes. You should hear Sara on her bad days,” Peter said with a quick smile. “She’s quite vocal.”

Adam rubbed his forehead. “Can we try it or not?” he snapped. 

“Yes, we should try it. Sara and Jackson are having good days, we can try it on them. Adam and Vivian, go ahead.” Peter gestured at them.

Derek shot a wild-eyed look at Adam, who was approaching Jackson’s cell. “Are you sure they should-?”

“We can handle it,” Vivian said, rolling her sleeves up. She took a syringe from Paige and took a deep breath. “Close the door behind me,” she ordered Derek. 

Peter opened Jackson’s door for Adam, and closed it once he was inside. 

Stiles stared, wide-eyed, into the window.

Adam approached Jackson in a half-crouch, trying to make himself small and unthreatening.

Jackson watched him, teeth bared and overly long, until he was close; then he lunged and Stiles nearly closed his eyes, sure Adam was going to get mauled, but he managed to keep them open. 

Which was good, because skinny little Adam was a vampire. He shot his arm out, pressed one hand to Jackson’s chest, and slammed him back to the floor. He kept him pinned there, picked a vein on his arm, and stuck him in one strike. He sighed and stood, stepping back to give him space.

“He’s going to stay in there for a moment,” Peter murmured.

“Why?”

Peter tipped his head. “There have been some issues in the past.” He didn’t elaborate, so Stiles looked back at the glass.

Jackson sat up and shook his head. He kept his face downturned, getting on his hands and knees like he was about to get sick. He coughed, but nothing came up. His back rippled strangely, like the muscles were contracting all at once, and then grey-green scales seemed to slide out from under his skin on his back and arms. He roared and leaped up, not at Adam, but at the wall, running into it headfirst. He fell back, gasping and bleeding, and ran at it again.

“Shit,” Peter muttered. 

Adam flew into motion, landing on Jackson’s back and locking his arms around his chest. The size difference was comical—Jackson was a big, fit guy, and muscles were bulging in odd places from the weird shift that he was fighting, and Adam was slim and quite a few inches shorter than Stiles, even, but Jackson couldn’t break free from his grasp, couldn’t run at the wall again, though he was trying. His feet scrabbled against the floor desperately, but Adam didn’t budge. 

Peter went in with another syringe, getting in close and muttering at Adam while he injected something clear into Jackson’s arm. 

Stiles cringed, turning his face away. He met Derek’s gaze and grimaced. He didn’t like seeming weak, but there was only so much he could stomach.

Derek didn’t seem to think less of him, if his answering grimace was any indication. “I forget how strong vampires are,” he said. “Sara just shifted into…some mutated wolf, and Vivian just slammed her onto her bed like she was a toy.”

Stiles nodded, grasping at the distraction. “Same over here. Jackson’s already bigger than Adam, so…yeah.”

Peter and Adam came out then; Adam ran his hand through his hair and went to Sara’s cell. He closed his eyes when he saw what was going on within.

Stiles looked back at Jackson’s cell.

Jackson was on the floor, unconscious, but the serum was still working on him, so scales were appearing on his arms and chest, then disappearing. Muscles flexed and bulged, then shrank back to normal. It looked painful. 

Stiles took a breath and wrote all of it down. If he wanted to come back, he had to be able to deal with this stuff. 

“We’re trying to help them,” Peter said quietly. “I know it doesn’t look like it, but we can’t leave them like this.” 

“He tried to bash his own head in on the wall,” Stiles replied without looking up. “How is that helping?”

“You think a bullet to the brain is better?” Peter asked, his rare temper flaring. “Give me your hand.” He didn’t wait. He grabbed Stiles’s wrist and slapped a gun in it. “You kill Jackson, put him out of his misery, and then you explain to his parents, his girlfriend, why we didn’t do everything we could to bring him back before resorting to _execution._ ” He turned and stalked to Penny’s cell again.

Stiles stared at the gun in his hand. Truthfully, he thought it would be kinder to put them out of their misery, but that wasn’t his call. Peter was right about that. He didn’t want the responsibility of telling their families why they’d given up. He sighed and took the gun to Peter, who wordlessly put it back in the holster on his hip. 

Stiles hadn’t even known Peter was armed, but the casual way he handled it spoke of habit. He rolled his shoulders and walked to Derek, listless. “How’s this guy?” he asked, turning.

Derek grunted noncommittally. 

Jeff was prowling around his cell, mostly in a wolf-form, though patches of human skin showed through. There was a splintered piece of wood in his mouth, which he was gnawing on. His wolf form was larger than Stiles had ever seen, and clumps of fur fell off when he rubbed against the walls. 

“They’re sick,” Adam said. “But they’re not getting better or worse. The only thing to do is kill them or try to save them.” His jaw clenched, fangs unsheathed and digging into his lower lip. “I would rather do everything I can to help them before killing them.” 

“Which one of them is yours?” Derek asked casually. 

Adam shot him a venomous glare and stomped away. 

“Your people skills are stellar, as usual,” Stiles said.

Derek scowled at him. “You’re the one who said you wanted to kill them.”

“I did not,” he snapped. “I just…look at them.” He swiped his wrist under his nose, irritated. “It just seems cruel to leave them like this.” He flicked his gaze toward Derek’s face. “Why do you think Adam’s connected to one of them?”

“He takes it all really personally. Smells sad and hungry.” He shrugged. “You should get back to watching Jackson.”

Stiles nodded. “Got it.” He rolled his eyes and went back to his window. 

 

The team returned from their mission later that night; Stiles was still awake because he couldn’t get the image of Jackson running determinedly into the wall out of his head, so he heard them come in and met them in the hall.

“Hey,” Scott said, surprised. “Why are you up?”

“Why am I ever up?” he asked dryly. “I pine for you, Scotty. I couldn’t sleep without seeing your face.”

Cora laughed and threw her arms around his neck. “Missed you!” 

He laughed, too, and hugged her back. “Thanks.” He squeezed a little tighter. “I missed you guys, too.”

“You dork,” Laura said affectionately. “Did Dr. McCall give you stronger pain meds?”

“No!” He let go of Cora and rubbed the back of his head. “I just got lonely. Isaac’s not as adventurous as you guys.”

“Ooh, what’s that mean?” Erica asked, leaning against Stiles’s doorjamb. “What’d you guys get up to?” 

“It’s—not important,” he said haltingly. “What’s important is you guys are back, so I don’t have to be bored anymore.” 

Scott’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah,” he said slowly. 

Cora shrugged. “Okay, weirdo. I’m going to shower and sleep for twenty-four hours, but after that, we’ll entertain you.” She patted his shoulder and crossed the hall to her room.

Erica shrugged and left for her own room, too, twirling her utility belt around her finger.

Laura rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Goodnight, Stiles, Scott. See you tomorrow.” 

“I guess you’re tired,” Stiles sighed.

“I just need a shower,” Scott said loyally. “Then we can talk.”

“It’s okay. It wasn’t anything, really. I was just bored.” 

Scott nodded, but Stiles knew he was going to come back, because that was what he did. 

It was unfortunate that Stiles couldn’t tell him what was going on in Peter’s lab, but if he did, Talia might decide he shouldn’t be allowed to help there, and—despite his reservations—he had to help. He might not be making any big difference, but it would be on his mind _constantly_ if he wasn’t there. 

Scott returned after his shower in his pajamas; he ignored Stiles’s insistence that he was fine and climbed into bed with him. “How’re you feeling?” he asked conversationally, the minty scent of his toothpaste almost overwhelming in this proximity. 

“Fine,” Stiles muttered. “The usual level of soreness you’d expect, I guess.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “How was the mission?”

“Good. We rescued three vampires as they were being taken into a facility, no one got shot, and we weren’t even really seen.” Scott pressed closer. He’d lost all sense of personal space when he’d been bitten. That was okay; Stiles had never really had that sense, either. “What’s the matter?”

“Did you know Isaac carries a big ass knife with him?”

Scott hesitated. “Well. Yeah.”

Stiles’s eyes popped open. “You did?”

“Yeah. He was on the streets for a couple years before we took him in. He’s tougher than he looks,” Scott joked, only it didn’t really sound like a joke.

“Huh. I guess. I just never pictured him in a knife fight.”

“How’d you find out?”

“There was an incident when we went out the other day,” Stiles mumbled. “We got into a confrontation with some women who didn’t believe I was human.”

Scott snorted. “You’ve been around us too long.”

“Tell me about it. I smell like wet dog _all the time._ ”

Scott pinched his leg and made him laugh. “We don’t smell like wet dog.”

“Sure, keep telling yourself that.” He stretched out, relaxing. “It wasn’t anything too bad. They tried to follow us, so we did what we had to do. That’s all. I was just surprised to see Isaac with a knife.” 

Scott nodded. “Okay.” He yawned. “We’ll talk more in the morning. Move over, my leg is hanging off the bed.” 

Stiles smiled and moved closer to the wall. 

Scott went to the gym with Laura and Erica the next morning, grimacing apologetically at Stiles, who still couldn’t spar. He just waved them off and once they were out of sight, he turned to head to the lab.

Peter put Stiles at a table with Paige, and told Paige to show Stiles what she was doing.

“It’s just seeing what these serums do to blood samples,” she said. She sounded irritated to have been saddled with Stiles, which he could understand; he’d made it clear he didn’t think she could do her job. “The problem is their blood samples react differently than their bodies are, every time. So we can’t seem to predict the effect.”

“Ah. What can I do?” he asked.

“You can record my findings,” she said, shoving a notepad across the table at him.

“Naturally,” he said agreeably. 

She narrowed her eyes at him, but one of her associates approached with a collection of blood samples before she could say anything. 

Just like the day before, Derek entered after Stiles had gotten settled. He picked a workstation and started helping. 

At three-thirty, Peter called out for anyone with serums to try. Paige’s wasn’t ready, but Vivian’s group had something they wanted to try.

“It’s got aconite in it,” she cautioned. “It calmed the cells, sort of like the tranqs we’ve been using, but more aggressive.” 

“Try it on Sara,” Peter said. “She’ll be able to handle it.” 

“What if it kills her?” Stiles blurted.

“It won’t,” Vivian said. 

“How do you know?”

“You’ll see,” Peter said with a sigh. “Just come watch, Stiles.” 

Sara looked worse than she had the first time Stiles had seen her. Her face was warped, a flesh-colored muzzle trying to push out from her mouth, claws tipping her fingers. Her shoulders were weird and thick with muscles, like her body was trying its hardest to shift, but she was resisting. Her movements looked painful as she paced, more agitated the longer they watched. 

Vivian uncapped the syringe and went into the cell; Peter slammed the door behind her.

Sara roared, hunching down and baring her misshapen fangs. 

Vivian bared her own back. “Don’t be difficult, Sara.” 

Sara snarled something—a word? It sounded she was trying to _speak_ —and lunged at Vivian.

Vivian tsked and struck Sara’s chest with the heel of her hand, slamming her back into the far wall. She pinned her to the floor with her foot while she struggled wildly. Unlike Jackson, she managed to shift Vivian slightly, but she still pricked her arm with relative ease. 

The effects were immediate. Sara’s eyes rolled back, she started foaming at the mouth, and her spine arched off the floor at a painful angle.

“Damn,” Peter breathed. 

Stiles swung his head back to look at him. “Do something!” 

Vivian backed away, shaking her head, while Sara convulsed. 

Stiles pressed his knuckles against his mouth. “Is no one going to help her?” he demanded. He shoved around Peter and tried to go to the cell—he didn’t know what he could do, but standing there watching her die wasn’t a sufficient response to this—but Derek grabbed his arm. “We can’t just-” he started, but Derek shook him.

“Look, moron. You can’t go in there.” 

Stiles looked at the cell.

Sara’s muzzle collapsed and she stopped shaking. Her shoulders shrunk, and it seemed like she would look human in a second, until her eyes flew open, sickly yellow and vacant. Three inch long fangs descended from her human mouth and her hands withered, fingers collapsing to partial-nubs, somewhere between human and wolf. She howled and started beating her fists and heels against the floor, shaking her head back and forth. 

Vivian backed out. “Sara can’t die,” she muttered as she passed Stiles and Derek. 

Stiles shook himself free of Derek’s grip. “What does that mean? She can’t _die?_ ”

“She gives it her best shot, but she hasn’t so far,” Peter murmured. “It’s in her best interest that we try to find a cure.” 

Stiles looked at her cell. “This gets more horrifying every day,” he said. “I just…want you to know that.”

“Try being here for sixteen hours a day,” Peter said. “Try being the one who keeps failing. Then talk to me about horrifying.” He walked over to his own station and started working on his serum.

Stiles rubbed his face. “I don’t want to be a part of this,” he whispered. 

“Why do you keep coming back then?” Derek snapped.

“Because I know what’s going on,” he replied simply. “I can’t do _nothing_.” 

Derek looked surprised. Then he laughed quietly, shook his head. “Right. He’s only going to let us stay another thirty minutes anyway. We can leave, if you want.”

Stiles started to say he knew that—he’d come here on his own, before Derek had come—but held his tongue. Derek was obviously trying to be friendly, and throwing that back in his face was uncharitable. Stiles could be chill. Totally. 

“Sure. Let’s go get Isaac and drink until we puke.”

“No.” 

“You’re not fun.”

Derek didn’t reply; he just walked around Stiles to the door. 

Stiles looked back at Sara’s cell; she was standing at the window. It seemed almost like she was gazing through, despite what Peter said about them not being able to see through them. Stiles flinched when she met his gaze and a cracked smile stretched around her overlarge fangs. He turned on his heel and followed Derek out of the lab.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so eight is my favorite number so chapter eight tends to be exciting, but this time it got pushed to chapter nine, sort of. Either way, these next two are my favorites. _Excelsior!_ Or something.
> 
> Let me know how you like it! :D

“Mobility looks good,” Dr. Deaton commented. “Your arm is done. How’s your chest? Isaac said most of the bruising is gone.”

Stiles lifted his shirt. “Pretty much,” he said. He bounced his leg. “C’mon, sign the release, Doc.”

Deaton set his clipboard aside and started probing Stiles’s chest. “Tenderness?”

“Nope. But your hands are like freaking ice, man.”

“Occupational hazard. Alright, well, aside from the scarring on your arm, you seem to be fit.” He took his time picking up his clipboard, clicking his pen, and reading over the release form.

Theatrical as usual. Stiles bounced his leg faster, leaning forward.

Deaton signed the paper with a flourish and pulled it off the clipboard.

“There you go. Just give that to Alpha Hale and you’re cleared for fieldwork.” 

“Thank _god_.” Stiles jumped off the cot and grabbed the release. “Yes, thank you, Dr. Deaton, Dr. McCall, and various other doctors of the fine bunker ER. I hope it’s a nice, long time before I see any of you again in a _professional_ manner, at least. Lookin’ at you, Doc Genesco,” he added, winking.

Dr. Genesco rolled his eyes and turned back to his patient.

“Go take that to Alpha Hale and stop bothering our patients.”

“My pleasure.” Stiles waved enthusiastically and shoved the doors open. 

Scott grunted and stumbled back as one of them slammed into his stomach. “Dude!” he protested. 

“Why were you standing so close to the doors?!” 

“I was waiting for you.” He grinned. “So, how’s the scar?”

Stiles shoved up the sleeve of his t-shirt. “It doesn’t even look cool. How am I supposed to show off my battle scars if they look like flesh blobs?”

“It looks—cool,” Scott insisted. “The edges sort of look like, um, fire, maybe.”

“Or like bug bites.” He hooked his arm playfully around Scott’s neck. “Let’s go find Talia. _Please_.”

Scott snickered and wiggled free. “You know we’ve got another mission lined up already—rescue. Talia decided that surveillance wasn’t our strong suit.”

Stiles scoffed. “Yeah, understatement.”

“Derek’s not grounded anymore, either,” Scott said conversationally. “So the whole team will be going.”

He muttered, “I am overcome with joy.”

“You guys were getting along when we got back.”

“We were?”

Scott pinched his shoulder. “You _were_. You’ve been together, helping in Peter’s lab.” 

“No, we’ve been assisting Peter, separately, but coincidentally at the same time.”

“Okay, sure.” Scott took the release paper and studied it. “So, the person we’re going to rescue is an alpha,” he said without looking up.

“Who?”

Scott shrugged. “Some guy named Ennis something. He went missing from Alpha Ito’s faction a few months ago. Our surveillance team located him in an OWH facility in Oregon.”

“Really?”

“Yep. So that’s where we’re going. It’s weird, though, because Ry said the place has so far _only_ been full of OWH humans and hunters, no supernatural prisoners except this Ennis guy.”

“Huh. Maybe they’re worried we’ll find them in their bigger buildings.” Stiles shook his head. “Or there’s something they need from him in that one.” 

“Laura thinks they’re doing tests on him there. Ry said it was all lab and paperwork. Maybe they think they’ve come up with a way to suppress lycanthropy.” 

Stiles’s mouth twisted. “That’s stupid.” 

“They think it’s justified,” Scott murmured.

Stiles wondered how what Talia and the other Alphas were doing with the quarantined people was any better. He guessed the difference was that they weren’t actually abducting people and that they were trying to _help_.

But didn’t the OWH think _they_ were trying to help by curing what they viewed as a disease?

Stiles scrubbed his hand over his head, frustrated. 

Scott set his hand on the back of Stiles’s neck. “You okay?”

“Yep. Just ready to get back out on the field.”

Scott squeezed his neck and let go. “Well, we’re _supposed_ to head out tomorrow night. Cora, Isaac, Erica, and Boyd went to get some stuff for tonight.”

“Good.”

“I invited Kira.”

Stiles sighed and threw his arm around Scott’s shoulders. “Will you please kiss that girl? She tried to kiss you last week when we were watching _Jumanji_ , which, if you don’t remember, isn’t exactly romantic. Not only did you brush her off, but you apologized for crowding her and offered her _popcorn._ ”

“I didn’t _know_! Not until you told me!” Scott whined.

“So do something about it!” 

 

Talia was in the gym with Ian and John, practicing basic defense maneuvers. She accepted Stiles’s release form with a smile and a quick hug. 

“Full moon is getting close,” she explained, wiping her face on her towel. She grimaced.

“That’s why we work out,” Ian reminded her. He was sitting on the mats, pulling on his toes.

“Yes, I know. Ahem. You and Derek are ready to return to fieldwork. Laura can tell you the details of your next mission tonight—if Scott hasn’t already.”

Scott laughed weakly.

“Be safe,” Talia said, choosing to ignore him. “Everyone will be carrying guns this time, as well as smoke bombs and modified weapons. I doubt you’ll need them, but after the Utah mission, we want everyone prepared. They’ve been more aggressive than they used to be.”

“Makes sense.”

“We’ll see you off tomorrow night,” Talia said, holding her hand out to pull Ian to his feet. “For now, enjoy your free time.”

Not rolling his eyes required a herculean effort. As if Stiles had had anything other than free time for weeks. On the days he could convince Peter to let him help, it was only a couple hours at a time. Even when his healing had progressed enough for light exercise, he’d felt like he was going to crawl the walls.

Scott nudged him. “Laura wants us to brush up on our aim.”

“She wants _me_ to brush up,” Stiles corrected. “Since I haven’t practiced in a while.”

“I can always use more practice,” Scott said placidly. 

Since they had time to kill until the party that night, a few hours after dinner, Stiles didn’t mind. 

The armory was a short distance from the gym. There was a class of pre-teens learning how to clean handguns there when they arrived. Scott smiled and slid by to get to the gun locker. 

Stiles leaned awkwardly against the wall and tried not to make eye contact. 

Scott returned, whistling and carrying a box of ammo. “Ready?” he asked, nodding toward the shooting range. 

Stiles wrinkled his nose. “Yeah.” 

“Take your pick, gentlemen,” the range master, Stacy Ortiz, said, waving. “No one else is here yet.” 

“Nice.” Scott passed Stiles a .45 handgun and took his own. 

“Double up,” Stacy reminded them, taking some over-the-head earmuffs off the wall and holding them out. 

Stiles grabbed the red ones and put them around his neck for safekeeping while he put his earplugs in. “Should we make a bet?” he asked.

Scott snorted. “What kind of bet?” They were both shouting. Scott had to wear the blue earmuffs, which were more powerful and designed for sensitive ears. “It’s just practice. No bets.”

“Fine, loser.” 

Stacy tapped his shoulder with protective glasses; she shoved them on his face when he didn’t take them. “Safety or you don’t shoot.” She passed some to Scott. 

“You know we’re safe, Stace.” He grinned at her over his shoulder.

“Put your earmuffs on.”

He loaded his gun first and set it aside to pull the earmuffs on, adjusting them so they stayed in place. He picked up and tested the weight of the gun, flexed his fingers around it, to remind himself of how it felt. It wasn’t that he’d forgotten, but it was always best to make sure he was fully prepared before discharging a firearm. 

Stiles blew out a breath and squared his shoulders, adjusting his stance so he was facing the target. Above the target line, a green **Safeties Off** light flickered on. 

 

“Well,” Scott said when the red **Safeties On** light flashed, “at least Laura will be pleased.” He studied their target sheets with the faint distaste of someone who was generally against unnecessary violence.

Stiles nodded. “All ready to go in guns blazing.”

Scott frowned at him. “They could be torturing that alpha,” he said. “That’s why we have to go in with guns.”

“I know.” Stiles shrugged. “Let’s go clean up, I hate the smell in here.”

“Thanks,” Stacy called.

Scott cheerfully replied, “You’re welcome!” 

 

Cora had food and drinks set up in her room, Erica was blasting music from hers, and Laura warned them that if _anyone_ complained about a headache during their mission, they would be banned from all pre-mission parties in the future. Heather, Danny, Boyd, Jordan, Danielle, and various other passersby had joined in, crowding the hall and filling it with voices just under the pulse of Erica’s _awful_ music.

“Why do you look so _mad_?” Cora demanded, hip-checking Stiles and passing him a frosty margarita. 

“Seriously?”

“Beer is boring. Laura made them.” She grinned. “So, why are you brooding?”

“I’m not _brooding_.” He scoffed and drank his margarita. “Oh my god, Laura doesn’t screw around with her tequila, does she?”

“No, she doesn’t. If you aren’t brooding, then you’re pouting. _Smile,_ dude. You’re allowed back on the field.” 

He held the cup back out to her. “I don’t want that, it’ll knock me flat until we leave.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Laura’s not great at portions when she can’t even feel the tequila. Scott’ll probably drink it.” She checked his face and started laughing. “Have fun,” she snickered, walking down the hall to talk to Danny. 

“Why does Erica listen to this?” Laura demanded.

Stiles snorted. “Because it’s loud and obnoxious and yet, somehow, she can dance to it.”

“She can dance to anything,” Isaac said. He had a plate in hand, chewing on some fruit. “She’s playing this because Boyd likes it,” he added.

“Someone has to do something,” Laura declared, marching away.

“So you guys are leaving tomorrow.” Isaac turned slightly.

Stiles snorted. “Worried?”

“You did show up knocked out and bleeding last time. Giving us humans a bad name, dude.”

“We’ll be fine. It’s just a rescue.” Stiles glanced over his shoulder. 

Heather grinned at him and approached. “Hey. You guys are leaving tomorrow night, right?”

“Yep.” Stiles hooked his thumbs in his front pockets, shifting so he could face her. 

“Ugh, gross,” Isaac muttered, slipping into the crowd.

“We’re leaving tomorrow, too—heading to Colorado with Ry’s team to pick up some info.” 

“Colorado?” Stiles repeated, straightening. “That’s pretty dangerous territory, isn’t it?”

“Yep. That’s why they’re sending us to pick it up—Danielle and I can drive across the state lines undetected, and Ry’s team is all vampires—they can pass most road tests.”

“Silver is still poison for them.”

“True, but Ry and his team volunteered to test out Lydia’s serum for that.”

“This is a _test run?_ ”

She grinned. “Yep.” She stepped closer and tipped her head. “Might die.”

“Uh, yeah.” His own lips curved in response to her smirk. “We could, too,” he said. 

Heather rolled her eyes. “Do you want to have sex or not, Stiles?”

He laughed, surprised. “Yes, yep, let’s go.”

“My room,” she said. “Less prying ears,” she added pointedly, and hooked her finger in his belt loop, tugging him along playfully.

“Sure.” He grabbed her hand and let her tow him through the crowd.

“Gotta finish the ritual,” Cora teased when they neared her.

“Might as well have fun,” Heather said, smacking the hand Cora held up as they squeezed past. Her room was in the next hall over—they could still hear Erica’s awful music.

“Hey, so, this is just –” Stiles began.

Heather kicked the door shut behind her. “Duh.” She pulled her shirt over her head. “Condoms by the bed.” She grabbed a fistful of his shirt and kissed him. “Pants off,” she said against his mouth, “or I’m gonna start without you.”

He kicked his jeans off and stumbled after her to the bed.

 

Heather’s alarm went off at five in the morning. Stiles yelped like a wounded animal at the blaring noise. She grumbled and slapped at it, then switched on her lamp.

“ _Why?_ ”

“Leaving,” she muttered.

He reached around, intending to, maybe, rub her shoulder or her back, but he got—

“That’s not my shoulder, if that’s what you were looking for.” She sat up and shoved her hair off her face. “I have to leave soon. I have to _shower_ , ugh.”

Stiles rubbed his face. “You didn’t say you had to get up at _five_.”

“You didn’t ask.” She got out of bed and flicked his shirt at him. “Go, go, I have to get ready.”

“I feel used,” he complained, laughing when his sock hit his face.

“You were. So was I. Thoroughly. Three times.” She laughed, too, and tossed a shoe to him. “That was fun,” she added. “Thanks.” She grabbed a stack of clothes from her desk. “Close the door when you leave. See you when I get back!” 

Still grinning, Stiles got up and pulled his shirt over his head, then spent a few minutes looking for his boxers before giving up and hitching his jeans up over his bare hips. 

He pulled the door shut behind him and ran his tongue over his teeth. Now that he was up, he didn’t feel all that tired. He rubbed his head and shrugged. He could shower, then forage for some breakfast. Since he was already up, he’d might as well enjoy the extra time. Maybe he’d see if Scott was awake after he was cleaned up.

Erica was asleep against his door. She blinked when he nudged her leg with his foot, looking around. She jumped and scrambled to her feet. “Oooh, that’s…not my room.” Her eyes were bloodshot and her breath had that sweet wolfsbane scent to it that meant she’d had a few laced drinks last night.

“Nope.”

She jangled her keys. “Boyd had to go to the lab like an hour ago and I said I was going back to my room.” She yawned fiercely. “But I couldn’t get in.” She brushed absently at her wild hair.

Stiles laughed and hooked his arm around her waist. “Lucky for you I’m feeling generous.” He unlocked his door and helped her inside. “You can use my bed while I shower and look for food.”

She kissed his cheek. “Thanks.” She muffled a laugh. “I bet I know why you’re feeling so generous.”

“I bet you’ll stop talking before I dump your hungover ass back into the hallway.”

“Don’t be a jerk, I was just teasing.” She pitched forward onto his bed. “Umf. Thanks,” she mumbled.

He snorted, shaking his head and grabbing a change of clothes.

 

Erica was snoring like a chainsaw when he got out of the shower, so he set a cup of water on the nightstand and left the room. He nearly ran into Derek in the hall.

“Whoa, sorry, big guy.” He grinned, running a hand through his wet hair.

Derek scowled. “You’re up early.”

“Yeah, Heather’s leaving soon, so I had to scoot, figured I’d shower since I was already up. Why’re you up so early?” He smiled again so Derek didn’t think he was teasing him.

“Going for a jog,” he grumbled.

“Oh-kay. Well, you have fun with that.” Stiles put his hands in his pockets and continued down the hall.

Scott joined Stiles in the cafeteria a couple hours later, with the other people waking up at normal hours, vibrating with energy. 

“We made out,” he gasped as soon as Stiles was within earshot.

Stiles passed him a cup of coffee and lifted his brows. “Did we? I don’t remember that.”

“Not us-we, we-Kira-and-me-we!” 

Stiles laughed, spraying coffee. “Whoops,” he snorted, grabbing some napkins to clean up the mess. “That’s good. Congrats, bro, you’re all grown up.”

Scott balled up a napkin and threw it at him. “Shut-up. We have plans to go to dinner when we get back.”

“ _Go to_ dinner?” Stiles repeated.

Scott smiled hesitantly. “Yes. But we can’t go anywhere alone…”

Stiles held his hands up. “Dude, I’m not being your third wheel.”

“I thought you could bring someone, too. Isaac could come, or Lydia. Or even Heather or Danny!”

“Why don’t you two stay in and watch movies like the rest of us?” Stiles grumbled.

“Please? Kira’s going stir crazy, but she’s afraid to go out alone.” Scott tipped his head, his eyes widening and rounding just so.

“Ugh, fine. Invite whoever else you want, just stop looking at me like that.”

“Thank you _so much._ I owe you. Whatever you want,” he promised earnestly.

“I’ll be sure to remind you of that when I cash in,” Stiles muttered.

Ignoring his tone, Scott asked, “Have you eaten yet?”

“Yeah, I ate. I’m going to roll Erica off my bed so I can watch a movie or something to kill time.”

Scott frowned. “Why is Erica—no, don’t answer,” he decided quickly. 

“Wow, as much fun as it would be to let you think that the whole way to Oregon, I’ll spare you. Erica is hungover and didn’t make it to her room, so I let her sleep in my bed.” 

“Oh, yeah, she left with Boyd last night.” He slapped his hands against the table. “Well, let’s go work out or something. You’re not tired, why sit in your room?”

“Because I don’t want to work out with you, you make me look bad.” Stiles stood anyway. “What do you have in mind?”

“Nothing too strenuous. A jog?”

Stiles’s face twisted. “No jogging. Let’s go pretend to do weight training.”

“Sure,” Scott laughed.

 

John helped them load ammo and supplies into their van before they left. “I was getting used to you staying here,” he said, chuckling weakly.

“Couldn’t last forever. I’m surprised no one tried to put me out of my misery. Like a racehorse.”

John snorted and dragged him into a hug. “Just be safe.”

“They’ve got my back, Dad. I’ll be fine.” He pressed his face into John’s neck just for a second before stepping back. “We’ll be back before you know it.”

Cora elbowed Stiles out of the way so she could hug him, too. “Don’t worry, Mr. S, we’ll watch out for him.”

Jordan Parrish was their driver for this mission, since he’d already worked with the rest of the team and was compatible with them. He even seemed to know Derek, if the way they were talking, all smiles and flexing biceps, was any indication.

Stiles huffed and got into the back of the van. He dropped his gear bag onto the bench seat beside him and stretched his legs out.

“Knives, guns, ammo, Kevlar,” Laura muttered, pawing through her bag. Her utility belt was already clipped on but empty. “Mace, Taser, smoke bombs, flares…”

“You’ve already checked that over twice,” Scott said soothingly. “If you missed something, it’s because you don’t need it.”

“What about your bag?” Laura demanded, whirling on him. “Did you check it?”

“Yes.” Scott pushed it toward her. His gear had fewer weapons so he had space for his field kit. “Go ahead.”

She unzipped his bag and went through her checklist of his things. “You’ve only got two rolls of gauze,” she said. “Don’t you need more?”

He leaned over and pushed aside some tools. “Gauze pads and tape for bigger wounds. I know how to do my job, Laur.”

“Oh. Alright. Stiles-?” She turned to him.

“My bag is fine, but sure, if it keeps you busy.” He pushed it across the bench. “Be my guest.”

“Boyd’s handling your comms and the building’s systems,” Talia’s voice said. She stepped around the door so they could see her a second later. “Danny is monitoring Heather and Ry’s mission, and Foster is with Jessa’s team, so Boyd’s with you.”

“Okay.” Laura nodded and turned to check her bag again.

“He’s good, and he’s been in this facility’s system a couple of other times undetected. You’ll be fine.” Talia held Cora’s bag out; Laura snatched it and started checking through it.

“Boyd _is_ good,” Erica hummed, sliding around Talia and into the van.

“I bet,” Cora mumbled. She hooked her arm around Talia’s neck and kissed her cheek. “Love you.”

Talia smiled and rubbed their cheeks together. “Love you, too. Jordan, Derek,” she called, stepping away. “It’s time for you to go.” She knocked on the side of the van.

“I’m riding up front for a couple hours,” Derek replied.

Stiles rolled his eyes all the way around and managed to catch the tail end of Scott’s exasperated expression. “What?” he demanded.

Scott held his hands up. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm going to be posting on Sundays and Wednesdays now because I'm a glutton and I want everyone to read the entire fic!! This is one of my favorite chapters. It was so fun!!
> 
>  **Also** , this chapter is pretty gory.

Stiles kicked Scott’s ankle to wake him up. The van was slowing, and since it lacked windows except up front as a safety precaution, Stiles didn't know for sure, but they were probably nearing the facility. Jordan was only going to stop if they needed gas or had reached their destination. 

Laura had moved up front a few hours ago. “Get us a little closer so we can watch for activity.”

“Sure.”

Cora and Derek grumbled, shifting in their sleep. They’d curled up together like children on the floor of the van a few hours ago. Stiles refused to find it cute.

Scott rubbed drool off his chin and looked around, flustered. 

“Scott, come up here,” Laura ordered. 

“I can do it,” Stiles volunteered.

“No, I want you and Erica to get your gear ready, that way we aren’t all scrambling to do it at once.”

Erica rolled her eyes and grabbed her bag.

Scott stepped over Cora and Derek delicately and squeezed between the front seats.

Stiles clipped his belt on and began holstering weapons. His Taser doubled as a flashlight, so that was one less thing he had to carry, thankfully. He had two smoke bombs in his kit for emergencies, even though they would incapacitate him as well.

No one had said as much, but Stiles knew the only reason he’d need them was to create a distraction so the others could escape.

“Do you have an extra sheath?” Erica asked, leaning over his shoulder. “Aha, yes. Here.” She shoved a large knife into the sheath hanging off the left side of his belt.

“Why?”

“I brought extra, so you should take it.” She checked the safety and holstered her handgun. 

Stiles shook his head and finished up his own gear. He put his vest on but didn’t strap in yet; that could wait, at least.

“The building looks so…dead,” Scott commented. “Or empty, I guess.”

“Boyd reported computer activity inside and the surveillance team swears no one has taken any prisoners out—or in, not since they took Ennis inside.” 

“Maybe they’re trying to make it _look_ empty,” Stiles said. Unease slithered down his spine. He flexed his shoulders. “To see if anyone will try to rescue him,” he suggested. 

“Boyd would know if any explosives were set in there.” She didn’t sound sure, though. She tapped her comm. “Boyd, is there any way to know if they’ve set handmade explosives?”

“No, I’m sorry. The OWH isn’t big on cameras, even for security, so there’s nothing I can get into to check. Is there a reason you suspect this?” he asked. “Should I tell Talia the mission is too dangerous?”

Laura’s jaw clenched. “No. I can get close and see by myself. Don’t report to my mother.”

“What do you mean you’ll get close?” Scott asked anxiously.

“I mean I’ll get close. No one move until I return.” Laura stripped off her shirt and kicked off her boots, then wiggled out of her pants. She’d slid out of the van and into her fur before any of them could protest. 

Scott scrambled into her seat and closed the door. He looked back at Stiles and Erica in panic.

Cora sat up in a crouch. “So…which one of us should follow her?”

“We can’t,” Stiles said. “Our orders are to stay here. Any of us chasing her could expose her. She’s less likely to be spotted when she’s alone.” He started bouncing his leg.

Derek got up on the bench Scott had vacated and silently started putting his gear on. 

Stiles clipped his vest and heard Erica do the same.

Cora was furious, teeth bared, hands clenched, nostrils flaring. “She could get shot.”

“They’ll separate us if you disobey,” Derek said. “Family members aren’t supposed to be teamed up as it is, but we work well together. If we can’t follow orders, they’ll split us up.” 

A growl slid between her teeth.

“Get your gear on,” Erica suggested. “It’ll give you something to do.” 

Cora had only gotten half of her belt loaded by the time Laura returned. 

“Thanks,” she said when Scott passed her clothes over. “I didn’t smell any explosives. Just cleaning chemicals, silver, ink…normal stuff.” 

“So we proceed as planned?” Jordan asked.

“Yes.” She hooked her comm up and around her ear. “Does anyone have a problem with that?” She bent to lace up her boots.

“No,” Scott said.

“We’re ready,” Erica replied.

“Good. We’ll go in an hour.” She grabbed her bag and started loading up her gear.

Erica pulled a bag from under the bench. “Here, you might need this.” She passed it up front.

Jordan took it. “Thanks.”

“What is it?” Stiles asked. “Aren’t you staying in the van?” He wasn’t sure what Jordan specialized in, now that he thought about it, but it must have been something combative, if he’d replaced Derek or Stiles. 

“Yes. Alpha Hale was worried there might be some issues, so I’ll be at the van.” He turned to face Stiles. “There are assault weapons under the benches. I’ll be on the van.” He knocked his fist against the roof. 

“Jordan’s a sniper,” Laura said.

“A sni—we’re just doing a rescue!” Stiles squawked. “Why do we need a sniper?”

“Mom believes—just like you did a few minutes ago—that they could be using their prisoners as bait to capture more of us. This could be a test run, since they’ve never used this place for prisoners before and because it’s not very busy. It would have to seem easy, catch us off guard.” Laura pulled her hair up. “So she sent Jordan with us, and assault weapons if we need them.”

“I’m not qualified to use those,” Scott said. “Neither is Cora.”

“That’s alright, the rest of us are. If it comes down to it, we’ll use them.” She looked at the building and bit on her lip. “I don’t think we should take them.”

“That defeats the purpose of bringing them,” Stiles pointed out. “Leaving them in the van is stupid.”

She turned, eyes narrowing. “I’ll bring one, and you’ll bring one. Any more than that could be bulky and slow us down.” 

“Why am I not bringing one?” Erica asked dangerously.

“Because I need you and Derek on stealth, which is _your_ speciality. Assault weapons will just slow you down or trip you up.”

Erica nodded and eased back to check her knives, satisfied. 

Waiting for the hour mark was hard. Stiles pressed his fingertips into his thighs to keep from fidgeting. Jordan put his rifle together as the minutes ticked by, and Erica watched the building with binoculars while Laura checked her watch at four minute intervals. 

“Alright.”

Stiles pulled the strap of his assault gun over his shoulders. The weight of it only served to make him more uneasy; this was beginning to feel less like a rescue mission and more like something…well, _more_. He knew how to use it, had tied with Erica and Derek in the rankings, but, god, he wished he didn’t have to.

“Locks are down,” Boyd said. “I’m going to stay connected with you the whole time. All computers are running basic programs.”

“Okay. Stiles and I will lead,” Laura said. “Jordan, get into position.” 

Jordan climbed on top of the van while everyone else filed out. He was barely a shadow on the van, just the ember glow of his eyes visible for a brief flash.

There weren’t many lights in the lot, so it was easy to approach the building stealthily, not that there was anyone around to see them. 

“I don’t see any movement by the entrance or through the windows,” Jordan reported. “Lights are on but I doubt they’re worried about security if they’ve got computerized locks.”

Laura snorted. “Idiots.” She pulled her handgun out. “We shouldn’t go in loud if we don’t have to,” she murmured.

They all followed her example and took their side arms out. Stiles held the door open for Laura while she went in, gun raised and sweeping. He followed to her left, ducking slightly on instinct. He straightened, lowering his weapon. 

“There really isn’t anyone down here.” It was frigid, too, like they were trying to refrigerate the place.

Erica walked past them to the desk that took up most of the lobby. “It says _welcome_ ,” she muttered, gesturing at the silver letters adorning the front of the desk. “This must be a recruitment office.” She peered over the desk and frowned, stepping around the side of it. She inhaled through her teeth. “Shit.” 

“What?” Stiles snapped, tightening his grip on his gun.

“I think this place has been evacuated.”

“That’s impossible! Our surveillance team just checked in this morning,” Laura barked. 

Stiles and Cora went to see what Erica was looking at; Derek and Scott kept their guns trained on the dimly lit halls that flanked the lobby. 

There were papers and a cellphone on the floor behind the desk, scattered haphazardly, and the computer was still on, like someone had jumped up in a hurry.

“Boyd,” Stiles asked tersely, “would there be a way to check if the air has been contaminated?” His skin crawled with the thought of every airborne pathogen they could’ve walked into.

“Already looking. Nothing in any of their computers suggests they were working on chemical weapons, nothing that says they would need to evacuate due to air contamination. Just serums, things that need to be taken orally or intravenously to work. Nothing in the air should harm you.”

“Great,” Erica muttered.

“Ennis could still be here.” Laura looked around. “There could still be people here. Mom thought it would be a trap for a reason.”

“You can’t smell or hear anything?” Stiles asked.

“Everything smells like bleach, and all I can hear is the hum of the lights and computers,” Scott whispered.

“Okay.” Laura pressed the heel of her hand to her head. “Okay. Scott, Erica, Stiles, take the left hall. We’ll take the right,” she snapped. “If you see anyone, shoot them. We’re looking for Ennis Fletcher, dead or alive.”

Scott looked troubled. “Do you think they’d have left Ennis if they evacced?” 

“Oh, yeah.” Erica smiled coldly. “We’re disposable, Scotty.”

“Lucky for Ennis, _we_ don’t think so,” Stiles said. “Come on.”

Team hierarchy was much like a pack’s: The strongest and most experienced led, so Erica took point while Scott and Stiles watched her back. 

The hall was dim enough that Scott and Erica’s eyes lit up a few steps in. Stiles had to let his human eyes adjust; once he’d thought the chance of bite rejection was worth the risk in exchange for the perks. After seeing Sara, Jackson, Jeff, and Penny deteriorating for weeks, he wasn’t so sure.

Erica made a soft throat-clearing sound, then snorted through her nose.

“What?” Stiles breathed.

Scott pressed his wrist under his nose and sniffled. “Smells like blood.”

“What does?”

“Everything,” Erica muttered. She wiped her palm against her thigh and beckoned them on.

The source of the smell became clear moments later. Erica was right; everything was covered in it. Stiles grimaced when his boot landed in a partially congealed puddle of it.

Red spattered the walls and floors, marring the ceiling in an artful spray, smeared on the tiles in horrific drag marks and puddles. 

Erica swallowed audibly and kept walking.

Stiles pressed his mouth against his shoulder for a moment; he’d mostly grown out of his issues with blood—occupational hazard—but this was more than he could stomach. When he opened his eyes, he saw a lump on the floor near the wall, white and red. It was probably once a lab coat, now shredded and stained, but there was something flesh colored peeking out from under the edge. He braced himself and used the toe of his boot to kick the cloth back. He let out a low animal groan of distress totally against his will. 

“What? What’s going on?” Laura demanded.

“Stiles found an arm,” Scott said, strangled. His hand curled around Stiles’s bicep, pulling him back gently. 

It _was_ an arm, _just_ an arm, like a horrifically life-like doll had been ripped apart by a giant toddler. 

“We’ve got some blood over here, too,” Cora said. “Maybe Ennis escaped and that’s why the place was evacced.” 

“God,” Erica gasped.

“What?”

She cleared her throat. “Just a—another piece. Um. Looks like a different person.” She nudged the leg with her boot and grimaced. 

“Keep going. We have to search the whole building.”

Stiles and Scott fell in behind Erica again, any hopes of stealth dashed as their boots squelched through tacky blood. They found a lab deeper in the hall. The glass doors were locked, but the window to the right of them was busted open and bloody. The remains of the scientists were scattered throughout what they could see of the lab.

Erica tilted her head. “Do you hear that?”

Stiles held his breath so he could listen, even though he knew he wouldn’t be able to.

Yet he did: a faint rumbling noise like far off thunder.

“Is that…” Scott stepped closer to the broken window, his head tilting, too. “Maybe it’s Ennis. He could be-”

The faint rumbling exploded into wet snarls and a large, slobbering _something_ tackled Scott.

Stiles leapt back and fired off two shots into the thing’s back. “What _is_ that?” he yelled, darting forward instinctively.

Scott was still pinned under it, and it was slashing at his face with six inch claws.

Stiles got in as close as he could and took aim at what he thought was its head. It swung out a thick, veiny arm, catching him across the chest and throwing him against the far wall. He slid to the floor, dazed and breathless. Dimly, he heard Scott and Erica fighting it and Laura shouting at them to tell her what was going on, but he couldn’t get the breath to answer.

Blood ran from his lip where his teeth had dug into it; he tasted it as he struggled to get to his feet, breathing heavily. 

Erica was on the monster’s back, her knives dug into the sides of its thick neck. 

It roared and flailed at her, thick claws digging grooves in her vest but not quite piercing it. 

Stiles holstered his sidearm and pulled his assault gun around in front of him. “It’s—I think it’s Ennis Fletcher,” he finally answered Laura. “We need help. We’ve shot it multiple times.”

“Derek’s almost there.”

Ennis didn’t look like any werewolf form Stiles had ever seen; huge and fleshy, slobbering and sporting eyes a dull, rusty red. He looked…mutated. 

“Get down, Erica,” Stiles ordered.

She yanked her knives free and kicked off his back, rolling away for cover. She grabbed Scott and hunched over his head. 

Ennis roared and turned, spittle dangling from huge, jagged fangs that jutted from his jaws. He rushed at Stiles with his mouth wide open, his face twisted and mottled with bruising. 

The gunfire was deafening in the closed hallway, but Ennis barely slowed as the bullets struck his chest in rapid succession. Globs of blood and flesh flew off his torso with the force of the shots, but they healed over like nothing Stiles had ever seen, and then the gun was crumpling like paper in Ennis’s fist, yanking Stiles clean off his feet.

He smacked the breakaway clip and landed upright. He managed to thrust a knife under Ennis’s ribs before a meaty arm swatted him off his feet again.

He skidded across the bloodstained floor and banged into someone’s legs.

Derek hauled him up one handed and shoved him out of the way, running to Ennis. 

Scott snarled unexpectedly and launched straight up from the floor. His face was a mess of bleeding gashes, worsened in his half-shift. He dug his claws into Ennis’s shoulders and tore strips of skin trying to get at his throat.

Derek shot at his back while he ran, but it didn’t seem to have any effect. 

“That’s not going to _work_ ,” Stiles spat.

Ennis slammed Scott to the floor and turned on Erica, powerful jaws clamping on her torso and making her scream as it pierced through her Kevlar. She managed, through her pained gasping, to stab the back of his neck.

He dropped her, roaring in pain and scrabbling to grab the knife where it was still stuck in his back.

Stiles ran to Scott first, but he was completely unconscious. He fumbled with Scott’s belt, grabbing a large gauze compress and ducked under Ennis’s flailing arm to get to Erica. He pressed the gauze into her wound, making her yelp. 

Her eyes, bright with pain, rolled up and widened; she mouthed wordlessly and then turned her face away, like she was afraid.

He looked over his shoulder and found Ennis bearing down on them. Stiles swallowed and ducked his head down, covering her as well as he could, and shut his eyes, like a little kid hiding from the monsters under his bed. 

A new roar filled his ears and rattled his bones. The floor shook when Derek and Ennis collided with animal snarls and blood spatter. 

“I can hold it,” Erica wheezed. She flopped her bloody hands over the gauze Stiles had been pressing on. “Get Scott out of the way.”

“Don’t try to move,” he advised. He shot to his feet and scrambled to Scott’s side.

Cora and Laura had arrived, and they were rolling on the floor with Ennis and Derek, half-shifted faces bloody and furious. Every now and then, one of them would yelp in pain, but they were keeping him away from the wounded, so it was working.

Stiles hefted Scott’s _dead frickin’ weight_ and dragged him closer to Erica. “Why aren’t you guys healing?” he grunted, settling Scott next to her. 

“He’s an alpha, Stiles,” she gritted out.

Cora slammed into the wall beside them with a high yelp and crumpled to the floor.

“Stiles,” Jordan said, “down that hall is an office—it’s got a window. I can see in it from my position.”

“Shit. Fine.”

“ _No_ ,” Derek snarled. He was on the floor, too, trying to get up on what looked like a broken ankle that kept sliding out from under him.

Laura jumped back to avoid Ennis’s next lunge. “I’ll go with.” She pressed a hand to her side where she was bleeding heavily. She backed up, keeping her eyes on Ennis. “Go, Stiles.”

Ennis wasn’t sure who to go for. Whatever they’d done to him took away whatever capacity to reason he’d ever had; he wasn’t even operating on wolf instincts—if he was, he’d be trying to go for the weakened or injured, wouldn’t he? Stiles wasn’t sure. 

Derek leveled his gun at the back of his head as he leaned against the wall, struggling to get up, but Ennis lunged at Laura at the same time he shot; the bullet struck the back of his shoulder and didn’t slow him down one bit.

Stiles turned on his heel, slipping in blood, and ran down the hall. The office was easy to find—it was the only door other than the lab, wooden, with a name plaque at eye level, and it was locked. 

Laura and Ennis were approaching fast.

Stiles swore under his breath and kicked the door in. It splintered and collapsed; Laura shoved Stiles over the threshold.

He felt Ennis’s teeth scrape over his shoulder; he didn’t break skin but he’d been close.

Ennis snarled and charged after them. 

Laura bared her fangs and met him head on. Her teeth gouged his cheek before he bulldozed her, flattening her to the floor. There was a dull, sickening _crack_ as one of his heavy feet stamped down on her leg; she roared in pain and lunged. She was pinned, but she tore strips of skin off his leg.

“Stiles, _move!_ You’re blocking my shot!” Jordan yelled.

Stiles dodged away from the window, but Ennis followed, swiping at him clumsily. Stiles clenched his jaw and backed up with his shoulder parallel to the glass. 

Ennis followed again, his bulk taking up most of the window. 

Stiles skipped back and managed to cover his ears just in time.

The glass exploded; bloody chunks of flesh and bone spattered Stiles’s face and chest as the shot hit its mark.

Laura grabbed his arm and yanked him away from the body, hissing in pain. She was walking on her broken leg. 

Stiles choked. He shoved her away and dropped to his knees, emptying his stomach on the carpet. 

Laura put her shaking hand on his back. “You okay?”

He nodded, panting, and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. He felt something thick slide down his cheek and plop onto the floor. His stomach rolled threateningly. “I’ll go check on the others. You just—sit.” He looked back at the body, half-expecting him to get up again, but there just weren’t enough intact pieces _to_ heal.

“He’s down, right?” Jordan asked tersely. 

“Yes, he’s down.”

Because Stiles had forgotten about him, Boyd’s voice made him jump. “Is everyone alive?”

“Yes,” Laura said faintly. “Report.”

“Alive,” Erica groaned.

“Breathing.” Cora.

“Here.” Derek.

“Scott?” Stiles pressed, his hands starting to shake.

“He’s just sitting up. I think his comm’s busted. He’s okay, Stiles,” Derek said.

“Get yourselves cleaned up,” Boyd said. “And your orders haven’t changed,” he added quietly.

“What do you mean?” Derek snapped.

“They want us to bring the body back.” Stiles thought he might be sick again.

“That is correct,” Boyd murmured.

“Fuck,” Laura breathed, dropping her head in her hands. 

“Stay here,” Stiles said. He pushed to his feet shakily. “Jordan, can you bring Scott’s bag in?”

“Yes.”

The hall looked worse with his team strewn about it. Erica was scarily pale, but sitting up and stripped of her vest and shirts. 

Scott was taping gauze over her wound. His own face was pale and liberally streaked with blood from the scratches that weren’t healing. “See, this is why I bring so much stuff with me,” he said lightly, fixing the last piece of tape. 

Cora didn’t look too bad—scratched and bruised, but nothing seemed broken or deeply gouged. “What can I do?” she asked.

“You and Stiles go check that lab for anything I can use to set Derek’s ankle and Laura’s leg. I didn’t bring anything for that, and they won’t heal right if they aren’t braced and set.”

Cora swallowed and nodded, turning to Stiles. 

The lab was still locked, but they could fit through the window Ennis had shattered once Stiles brushed away the loose glass with a bloodied lab coat.

“What did they do to him?” Cora murmured. 

Stiles turned to see what she was looking at.

Ennis must have been strapped to the operation table in the middle of the room. Thick, warped silver restraints lay broken on the floor. Stiles couldn’t imagine what they’d done to make a werewolf strong enough to bust through them. 

“Guys,” Laura said. “Focus please.” Her voice was tinny and strange, muffled in a way Stiles coludn’t understand.

He touched his earpiece and found that blood had run into his ear. “We’re looking,” he replied, wiping his hand ineffectively on his pants.

Cora skirted the table and opened up some cabinets behind it.

Stiles tore his gaze away from the table and found his own set of cabinets to search. There were pumps and other unidentifiable tools in the first one. He scoffed and let it swing shut, jumping when it banged.

“I found some stuff,” Cora muttered, “but there aren’t any braces.”

“Scott said just bring him a clipboard,” Derek replied.

Cora shrugged and grabbed one.

Stiles hung back. “I’m going to look for a…a bag or something.”

Laura murmured a thanks, and Boyd suggested places for him to look, none of which had what he was looking for, but he appreciated the company. There was a lot of gore in the lab. It was obviously where Ennis had escaped, so of course most of the carnage was there.

Jordan arrived with Scott’s bag, and a second later, he climbed through the window to the lab. “Is any of that your blood?” 

Stiles looked up. “I don’t think so.” He didn’t touch his face. He knew he looked like a nightmare. He’d only been feet away when Ennis had been shot.

“We should find a gurney or something to put the body on,” Jordan said. 

“We need a body bag,” Stiles muttered. “It’s messy.”

Jordan stepped over a bloody stump—part of a torso?—and opened a cabinet on the far wall that Stiles hadn’t gone to yet. There’d been too many body parts in that area. “Everything is messy. Here.” He pulled out something deep blue and heavy and unfolded it.

 

Jordan, Cora, and Stiles had to put the body in the bag, being the least injured, while Scott used pieces of the fractured door to splint Laura’s leg.

“You should bandage your face,” she said, touching a fingertip to the gash that ran lengthwise over Scott’s cheek.

“They’ve stopped bleeding. I’m almost done,” he added. 

“I’ll zip it,” Jordan said once they’d rolled Ennis’s body into the bag.

“Take it to the van while we finish up,” Laura said. “Don’t rush.”

Jordan nodded. “Cora, can you take the other handle? Stiles, get the top.”

Stiles’s mouth twisted, but he did as told, lifting the top of the bag—Ennis’s bulging, mutated shoulders. Cora and Jordan lifted from either side and started walking.

When they got to the hall, Derek started pulling himself up on the wall, but his splinted ankle held him up; every time he put weight on it, he went paler. “I can help,” he growled, digging his claws into the wall and dragging himself up.

“For fuck’s sake, Derek, just sit down,” Stiles snapped. “All you’ll do is slow us down, this is heavy enough without you hobbling with us.”

Derek froze, an uncharacteristically stunned expression stamped across his face. He stopped struggling and let himself slide back down the wall. 

As they left the hall, Stiles saw Cora looking at him. “Just don’t,” he muttered. 

“Wasn’t gonna.”

“He’s injured,” Jordan said.

“Exactly.” Stiles pressed his shoulder against his neck and moved his head until his comm came free. His ear itched when the dried blood flaked.

Cora frowned at him.

They loaded the bag into the van and helped Jordan dismantle his rifle. His eyes glowed briefly as he put it away. “Sorry it took so long. I couldn’t find a window where you were.” He rubbed his face. “Why would they do that?” He stared at the van’s doors. 

“Because they hate us,” Cora muttered. 

“But Ennis survived,” Stiles said thoughtfully. “Doesn’t that defeat their goal? I mean,” he continued, “they made him stronger and near-invincible, and a lot of them died. So how did that help their cause?” 

Cora stared at the van. “He’s still dead,” she said. “So they won.”

Stiles grimaced. He couldn’t argue with that.

“Come on. Derek, Laura, and Erica will need help getting out, and Scott doesn’t look strong enough to do much.”

Jordan carried Erica, which made her purr and crack jokes, and Cora helped Scott with Derek. Stiles went to get Laura while they picked their way out. 

“I only need a little help,” she panted, falling back into her chair. “Just some help balancing.”

“Sure,” Stiles said. “Whatever you say.”

She scowled at him and held her arm up.

When she was more or less on her feet, pressed against Stiles’s side, he felt something wet and warm seeping through his shirt. “Laura, are you-”

“No.” She stared straight ahead.

“Laura, you’re bleeding,” he hissed. “Why didn't you tell Scott?”

“Because we have to leave. He can patch it up in the van.” She clenched her jaw and took a step, forcing Stiles to keep up.

“Okay, okay.” 

Scott met them in the hall—he’d already made it to the van and back—and took Laura’s other arm. “For future reference, blood loss makes you weak and slow. This could be faster if you’d have told me you were bleeding.”

“Lecture _after_ we’re on the road,” she growled. She was pale and sweaty by the time they managed to pour her into the van.

Cora was up front with Jordan; Erica was sitting behind Jordan, and Derek was across from her, his leg propped on the body bag.

“Derek, we’re going to lay Laura on your bench, okay?” Scott said in an upbeat tone.

“Why?” he snapped, straightening up.

“She’s bleeding, and needs to lay down.” Scott lifted Laura onto the bench, leaning her head against Derek’s leg.

“I’m fine,” Laura insisted. 

“Sure you are,” Scott agreed. “Just need to get this vest off…Stiles?”

Stiles climbed into the van and closed the doors behind him, then turned on the overhead light. “Do you need my flashlight?”

“Need your knife. Cut the straps on the vest, please,” Scott said while he dug through his bag.

“It’s really nothing,” Laura insisted. “Jordan, start driving.”

“Go ahead. I can do it while we’re moving.”

Stiles snorted and sliced the side straps of Laura’s vest before Jordan could get moving; the last thing Laura needed was another wound to be trying to heal. 

Derek stroked Laura’s hair while Scott cleaned the wound—a deep, oozing hole just under her ribs on the right side—and Stiles handed him whatever he needed.

Erica stretched her legs out along her bench and closed her eyes. 

“Just ten more hours of this and we’ll be home,” Cora called back. 

“Great,” Laura breathed.

“I’ve got it wrapped as best I can right now—I don’t want to try stitching it in case your skin tries to heal over it.”

“Right.” She opened one eye. “Got any painkillers?”

“None that’ll work on us. But…” Scott grabbed her hand. Black lines started to spread from the point of contact, but Scott gasped and the lines disappeared. “Sorry. I…”

“Too much pain,” Derek said. “Cora, switch places with Scott and come help Laura.’

“Bossy,” Stiles couldn’t help murmuring.

Scott elbowed him.

“In a good way,” he amended.

Derek didn’t bother responding to either comment.

“Stiles, come over here,” Erica called. “Let me use you as a pillow.”

He snorted and climbed over the body bag and got on the edge of the bench. He patted his leg. “Be gentle, he threw me around like a rag doll.” 

She chuckled and leaned back, resting her head on his thigh. “Everything about this sucked,” she breathed.

He tugged the end of her ponytail, because he couldn’t disagree with her. He looked up and accidentally caught Derek’s eye. 

They both had blood all over their faces, but Derek’s was around his mouth and chin where he’d been biting and ripping at Ennis. Because he’d leaped onto a gigantic rage monster to save Erica and Stiles. 

Stiles kept looking for a moment, until Derek smiled at him. He dropped his gaze awkwardly to the body bag between them. The unnatural bulging in random spots made him frown. It was true that he’d never seen anything like Ennis before, not exactly, but he’d something similar. Derek had, too. They’d seen it fourfold in Peter’s lab.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is everyone losing interest? Lol. Well, I hope you enjoy this chapter anyway!

There was a small crowd in the garage when they arrived at the bunker. Stiles only noticed them when he threw open the back doors. He spotted Peter, Adam, and Paige standing among nurses and orderlies, which confirmed Stiles’s fears, as far as he was concerned. 

Stiles ducked under the reaching arms of nurses who were equipped with fluids and wheelchairs and stalked to Peter, who had a _gurney._

“We’re here for the body,” he said.

Stiles felt sick. “I thought you might be.”

“Go with them to the infirmary, Stiles,” he said. “You need to be checked for injuries.” 

Stiles just shook his head. 

Paige and Peter pushed the gurney to the back of the van, where Adam lifted the body bag out himself. He had to lean around Isaac to do it, since he’d climbed in to help get Laura out.

With the gurney loaded, Peter pulled it away from the van, leaving more room for the orderlies. 

“Stiles, where are you going?” Cora demanded.

Stiles wrapped his hand around the bar of the gurney. “I’ll be back.”

“But-”

“I’ll be back,” he repeated. He turned to glare at Peter, daring him to fight him.

Peter sighed and started rolling the bed.

Stiles kept pace, his mouth pressed thin and his heart pounding. He was afraid to put words to his fear, so he kept his face as blank as he could; it wouldn’t make much of a difference, since his face was covered in dried blood, but it made him feel more in control.

They went the long way, winding around to empty hallways to avoid panicking anyone, and made it to the lab in utter silence. 

“Oh my god!” Lydia leapt to her feet in shock when they pushed their way in. “Are you hurt?” she demanded, reaching for the box of gloves she kept on her desk.

Stiles stared at her. “No.” He looked over at Peter. 

“We’ve got to get this done now,” he said.

Lydia nodded slowly and crossed the lab so she could open the door for them. Her gaze drifted to the body bag when they neared. She looked at Stiles.

He swallowed and pulled the gurney into the lab. As soon as the door clicked shut, he exploded. “What the fuck, Peter? Just-” He shoved Adam away, unzipped the bag himself, and threw it open. “Just— _this_ , what they did—this looks like _them_.” He flung his hands at the cells. “So tell me again what happened to Jackson and Penny, Sara, and Jeff when they got bit because I’m freaking the fuck out!”

Peter stared at Ennis’s mutated body, shock twisting his features.

“Where’s his head?” Adam asked.

Stiles snapped, “I’m wearing most of it!” 

“Stiles, calm down,” Peter said.

“Fuck off!” He shoved Peter away, stupidly. Like he had anything on a werewolf. “Just—this looks _just like_ what’s going on with them, only _he_ wasn’t a newly bitten werewolf, so someone needs to convince me that you aren’t experimenting on people like the OWH, or-”

“Stiles, stop!” Peter grabbed his shoulders and pinned him in place. “ _Listen_ to yourself. This room is full of people who care about those patients, their friends and family. You’re saying we purposely caused them harm—for what?”

Panting, Stiles finally managed to look around, taking in his surroundings.

Everyone was once again staring at him, with their tired, overworked eyes and coffee-fueled jittering. Adam looked particularly furious. 

“I—I just…it looks like-”

“You’re in shock,” Peter said calmly. “You’re tired and you had a long night. We don’t understand what’s going on yet either. That’s why we need the body so we can see what caused this.”

“But he looked—it was just like-”

“Just like Jeff and Sara and the others. But why would we want that?” Peter shook his head. “Whatever they did to him, maybe we can identify the cause and use _that_ to help our friends.” 

Stiles swayed, his fear and rage draining out of him abruptly. “The whole ride, I kept thinking about Jackson and the rest,” he mumbled. “Because everything that happened, it just…it just looked like…”

“I understand. Vivian,” Peter called, then said something too quiet for Stiles to hear.

Adam and Paige wheeled the gurney away.

“How did they make a born werewolf turn into that?” Stiles wondered. His brain felt weird and fuzzy now, like once he’d spewed the frantic thoughts that’d been pinging around in his head for hours, his mind was just done. “Why does it look so…”

“You need to go lay down, Stiles. Get some rest. You’re more than welcome to come back once you’ve cleaned up and calmed down.”

“I should—talk to Talia, I should tell her-”

“She’s not here.”

Stiles stared at him uncomprehendingly. “She’s not?”

Peter sighed and dragged a hand through his normally-neat hair. “She’s giving an interview on behalf of the Pack. Satomi couldn’t make it and Yolanda refused, so she accepted.”

The door opened before Stiles could try to formulate a response to that, and Isaac poked his head in. “Someone called?”

Peter turned with his hand still on Stiles’s shoulder. “Yes. Please take Mr. Stilinski to the infirmary. He’s exhausted.”

Stiles tried to turn around. “But I can-”

“You can help once you’re rested.” Peter shoved him—and Isaac—firmly out and closed the door in their faces. 

Stiles couldn’t manage more than a frown. 

Isaac asked, “Can I touch your arm?” 

Stiles nodded, and felt Isaac gently take his elbow and start leading him through Lydia’s lab. 

“Are you hurt anywhere?” he asked in a low, careful voice.

“Don’t think so,” Stiles mumbled. “Bruises.”

“There’s wet blood in your hair.” He didn’t say anything else, though, just gently led Stiles to the infirmary and to a curtained area where the rest of Stiles’s team was. 

Laura and Derek each had braces on their injured limbs, in their own beds, and looked infuriated about it, if their expressions were any indicator. Their delicate werewolf dignity was insulted by the braces, probably. 

Scott’s face was cleaned and covered in gunk that smelled herbal, and in the bed beside his was Erica, fast asleep with Cora in a chair next to hers.

“I’m going to touch your other arm now,” Isaac said quietly, and eased Stiles back onto an empty bed. Seconds later, it seemed, he asked, “Can I clean your face?”

Stiles hadn’t even noticed him leave, but he must have, because he was holding a warm, wet rag. “Okay.” He stared blankly ahead while Isaac mopped the blood off his face and neck. It was taking a while, because it was dried on and there was plenty of it.

“I’m going to unclip your vest, Stiles. Okay?”

Whoever that was—because it wasn’t Isaac—was speaking to him very gently, like an easily spooked animal. He nodded, but he still flinched when fingers pressed on the clips of his vest until they popped open. He hadn’t realized he’d worn his Kevlar all the way home until that moment. He was still armed, too, with his gun, knives, and Taser. 

“What happened?” Derek asked in an undertone. Stiles turned his gaze toward him; he was in the cot nearest to Stiles’s and had a bloodstained vest next to his leg. He must have removed it from Stiles.

“He was in Peter’s lab, yelling and stuff, so Peter had someone call to get one of us in there,” Isaac replied, using his thumbnail to scrape off some blood caked on Stiles’s neck. “I don’t know what he was upset about—they were just taking that body for an autopsy.”

Derek’s eyes widened as he finally connected the dots. His gaze flicked toward the door like he was going to make a break for it himself.

Isaac shook his head. “Whatever you’re thinking about doing, just don’t. You can’t even walk. Whatever it is can wait until later.”

Derek glanced at Stiles. “Can it?”

He nodded.

“Can _what_ wait?” Laura asked sharply. “What do you two know?”

“Just a—a project we were working on with Peter,” Derek said. For someone who could successfully lie his way into an anti-werewolf compound—which he _could_ , they’d just stopped doing things that way—he was shit at lying to his sisters. 

“What kind of project?” Scott asked. “Stiles was clinging so close to the body that they might as well have put him on the gurney, too.”

“I just wanted to know if Peter knew what happened to him,” Stiles said.

Laura and Scott looked at him. “How would he know already?” Laura asked. 

Stiles shrugged. “I thought maybe he’d seen it before, that’s all. I wanted answers, and I wasn’t thinking clearly.” 

Isaac handed him some pills. “You have an abrasion on the side of your head and bruises on your neck and shoulders. Does anything else hurt?”

“No.”

“Were you unconscious at all?”

“No.”

“Good. You’re going to sleep,” he said. “Follow the light,” he added absently, shining a light across Stiles’s vision. He put it away, satisfied, when Stiles had followed it in all directions.

Stiles blinked at him. “It’s noon.”

“And you were up all night _after_ fighting. You’re going to bed.” Isaac handed him a cup of water and waited, arms crossed, for him to take his meds.

“You’ve been around Dr. McCall too much,” Stiles mumbled into the cup.

“What was that?”

Stiles gulped the water and pills. “Nothing.” 

“Thought so.” He held up a finger and walked away.

Stiles looked at Derek. “How’s your ankle?” he asked dully.

“Broken. Still. What-”

Stiles shook his head, because Isaac was returning and there were plenty of listening ears. 

Isaac had clean scrubs over his arm. “You should take your clothes off, they’re filthy.” 

“Alright.” He sighed and pulled his shirt over his head, grimacing when he smelled it. 

Isaac handed him the clean shirt and took his filthy one. “Here’s the pants, too.” He set them on the bed beside Stiles’s leg. “Do you need help?”

“No, but I need somewhere to put all these.” He slid off the bed and took his utility belt off. 

“Just give it to me. I’ll put it with your clothes and you can have it back tomorrow.” 

Stiles shrugged and set the belt on the bed, then unzipped his pants. He paused when Derek made a noise that sounded like a mouse being stepped on. “What? God.” He rolled his eyes and shoved his pants down. As he was pulling on the clean scrubs, he complained, “You know, you can’t actually be blinded by pale skin. It only looks bright when the light reflects off it. We can’t all be gorgeous sepia magazine cutouts like you and your sisters, so you’ll excuse me while I fit my pasty white ass into these scrubs and go to sleep.” 

Scott and Cora were laughing by the end of his rant, and even Laura was snickering a little.

Isaac rolled his eyes and snatched up Stiles’s things. “Go to bed,” he ordered, leaving and pulling the curtains shut behind him. He’d even taken Stiles’s shoes. 

Stiles climbed onto his cot and pulled the thin hospital blanket up over his shoulders. It wasn’t until he put his head on the pillow that his body seemed to realize it was okay, he was safe and could relax. He passed out hard.

 

He had a couple of false starts, waking up partially only to slip back into dreamland after a few confused seconds. When he finally did surface, Stiles found it dark and generally quiet, with only a small reading light in their little area.

He sat up and rubbed his eyes, looking around for the source of the light. 

Derek was sitting up in his bed, reading a thick novel by the light clipped on the cover. “Are you up for real this time?” he asked without turning. 

Stiles grunted. 

“Can you get me some water? I can’t reach it.” 

He frowned and looked over at him. Derek’s leg was propped on a mound of pillows, his ankle still wrapped up. “Okay.” He got up and yawned. “Want anything to eat?” He passed Cora, who was curled up on Laura’s bed with her, on his tiptoes.

“No, just the water.”

Stiles nodded and peeked out of the curtains. The only people awake were nurses who had better things to do than bother with him, and a parent pacing with his sleeping infant against his chest. The clock on the wall across from Stiles read 1:37, which he assumed was AM. 

He slipped out from behind the curtains and to the doors; he managed to be quieter than he normally would have, thanks to his bare feet. He went to the cafeteria, since it was closer than his room, and stepped directly into the kitchen.

“Hey!” Toya, the manager of all things kitchen-related, gasped, jumping to her feet. 

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

She snorted. “Sure. What’re you doing?”

He smiled. “Sneaking some food. What’re _you_ doing?”

She held up a legal pad. “Making the menu for the month.” She scowled at it.

“I don’t envy you that.” He edged around her desk. “Can I just grab some snacks and make it up to you by helping out tomorrow?”

She nodded. “Just write down what you take on the red clipboard so we can keep track.” She smiled wickedly. “You can help with meal prep tomorrow.” 

“Anything for you,” he promised, grinning back before darting into the pantry. His options were mostly crackers, fruit, and pudding, so he grabbed three of everything, wrote it down, and carried it back out to the kitchen. “Toya, just so you know, you’re the best.”

She grinned. “I do know, but reminders are always appreciated. Go on, you should be sleeping. _I_ should be sleeping. You sleep for both of us.”

He snickered. “You got it. Thanks.” 

“Goodnight.” 

Stiles dumped his loot on Derek’s bed and dragged a chair over. “Here, water and food. I got you pudding because the ice cream would’ve melted.” 

Derek frowned at him. “Why?”

“Because it’s past midnight and you like soft desserts.” Stiles ripped open a packet of crackers. “Plastic spoon is there, too,” he mumbled, stuffing a cracker in his mouth.

Derek carefully bookmarked his page and picked up his pudding cup. “Thank you,” he said slowly.

“It has occurred to me,” Stiles said, “now that I’m not out of my mind exhausted, that you technically saved my life.” He felt his face go red for literally no reason. “And Erica’s, of course. Obviously, I would have died first, so A-plus timing, thank you, but—god, anyway, thanks. For, you know, not letting Ennis kill me.”

“You’re…welcome,” Derek said stiltedly. Then he relaxed and smiled at his pudding cup. “You ran after me in Utah.”

Stiles wanted to make a joke about learning his lesson about that—he did get shot. By his teammate—but all he found himself doing was smiling and saying, “Yeah.”

Derek looked around and then leaned forward, so close that Stiles jerked his head back nervously. “What happened with Peter?” he asked in a low voice.

“What?” Stiles shook his head. “Right, Peter. Um. I made a scene, basically.”

Derek shook his head impatiently. “But Ennis, the body, he looked like the patients—it was just like what’s happening with Jackson and the rest.”

“I thought so, too. I even, um, might have accused Peter of experimenting on them—like doing it on purpose-” He cringed.

Derek recoiled. “You think he _purposely_ —”

“No!” Stiles held his hands out. “Just—hang on. I did _sort of_ think that. On the drive back. I was entertaining the thought, because it was so similar, how could it be a coincidence? But it just…doesn’t make sense for Peter or anyone _here_ to want them like that.” He frowned. “We can always go to the lab to check it out,” he said, feeling unsure. He shoved another cracker in his mouth.

“We should go in the morning.” Derek rubbed his head. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice.”

“Well, you were focused on your broken foot,” Stiles said generously, and wondered why he was being generous at all.

Derek picked up his pudding cup again.

Stiles grabbed an apple from the pile and rolled it between his palms. “It is just paranoia, right? To think…I mean, no one would benefit from mutated, feral werewolves.” 

“Right.”

He nodded and started twisting the apple stem. “All of those people that Ennis killed—it would be the opposite of what the OWH wants. Strong, ruthless werewolves that can heal from bullets quicker than regular werewolves? How would that help _them_?” It didn’t. It did rid the Pack of an entire building full of OWH aligned humans, though. That was a troubling thought. 

But the Pack’s objective was to show humans that they were people, they deserved to be treated like people. So that defeated _their_ goal, too. 

“There’s an answer,” he said aloud, mostly to himself. “We just have to find it.”

“Yeah, but what if it’s not one we want to hear?” Derek laughed mirthlessly. “Your family isn’t one of the founding packs of this whole thing.” He waved his hand above his head. “You’re just trying to do what’s right. So you wouldn’t be responsible if the answer is something nefarious in the Pack.” 

“Finding the truth is _always_ better,” Stiles disagreed. “Even if it’s horrible. How else do you correct wrongdoing?”

“I guess.” Derek’s hand whipped out, snatching the apple from Stiles. “Stop that,” he grumbled, ripping the mangled stem from it.

“Right.” He took the apple back. “I’m just—gonna go eat this. At my bed. Sorry.”

“Thanks for the snacks.” Derek picked his book up and hid behind it.

Stiles drummed his fingers against the edge of his bed before walking away. 

 

Somehow he fell asleep again. He woke to Scott and Cora arguing about waking him up.

“Next time, converse about that further away,” he grumbled, turning his face into his pillow. 

“Or you can get up before noon like a grown up,” Cora suggested, smacking his shoulder. 

“Psh, never.” He sat up and shoved the blanket off his legs. “Wow, you look—better,” he said upon seeing Scott’s face.

“Nightmarish,” Scott laughed. “Cora already said. I’m going to help out in the armory until Talia’s ready to talk to us. Do you want to come?”

“Uh, actually, I thought I’d go help Peter.” He shrugged and tried to look sheepish. “Make up for freaking out at him.”

“Ah. Good idea. Derek’s going that way, too.”

“Oh joy.”

“Be nice,” Cora said.

“I will be.” He hopped off his bed. “I’m going to shower and change first anyway. He’ll probably beat me there.”

That made Scott laugh. “Uh, don’t bet on it.”

“Why?”

Cora answered, grinning a little, “His ankle’s still busted; so is Laura’s leg.”

Stiles turned to where she was pointing.

Derek and Laura were hobbling around on crutches, back and forth along the infirmary, with Isaac coaching them. 

Stiles had to laugh; it was their offended expressions that did it. “I’m sorry!” he insisted when they whipped around to glare at him. He had to cover his mouth to contain his snickering. “I swear—have you seen your faces?” He pressed his hand harder against his mouth, gasping. 

“You are so mean,” Cora sighed. 

“I’m not!” He held his hands up. “I’m going now, I can’t handle this.” He left, still chuckling to himself, and found Kira in the hallway. “Hey,” he said, a little weirded out. “Everything okay?”

“Um, yeah. I wasn’t sure if I should go in,” she admitted, twisting her hands in front of her. “I mean—Scott said…” She blew out a heavy breath. “I want to see if Scott’s okay. If any of you are okay, I mean! I’m glad you’re okay, are you okay? You look okay.” Her face reddened. 

“Thanks, and yes, I’m okay. Scott’s got some scratches but he’d be thrilled to see you.”

“You think so?” she asked hopefully.

“Yes, I’m positive. Go see for yourself.” 

“I’m going to. I will. Thanks, Stiles.”

“Sure.” He waved and kept on his way, shaking his head. Were they both just _blind_? How could two people so obviously in like with each other be so _unsure_ about it?

It wasn’t until after Stiles had showered and dressed that he remembered he’d promised to help Toya in the kitchen. He cringed and rubbed his hand over his wet hair. He’d have to go to the lab later, then. 

He passed Derek on his way. “Oh, hey. Um, I’m going to help out in the kitchen. I forgot I said I would. So…I’ll just…check out the lab later.”

“Right. Okay. Mom wants to talk to us tomorrow.” Derek rubbed his cheek against his shoulder, leaning most of his weight on his borrowed crutches. “I’m going to see what’s going on with Peter, but I’m not going to stay long.”

Stiles wasn’t sure why he was telling him that. “Okay. Tell me how it goes.” _I guess?_ “See you later.”

“Okay.” Derek nodded firmly, leaving Stiles wondering faintly if he’d just agreed to something.

Stiles waved awkwardly and went on his way. Maybe he should tell Isaac to make sure Derek didn’t have a head injury. 

Toya was expecting him. She threw her arms around his neck when he snuck into the kitchen. “I knew you wouldn’t just leave me hanging.” She patted his shoulders. “You can help Alexa and Vera chop the vegetables, unless you give me a reason to keep you away from the knives. Then you can help Andrew and Carson peel. Just pick a station and get to work. The more stuff we get prepped, the quicker the meals get cooked.” 

“Hi,” he said once Toya had darted off to stop an argument by the stoves. 

Vera grinned. “Hey. Grab a knife and start on the celery.”

“You got it.”

Stiles spent three hours helping in the kitchen, much to Toya’s delight. It was a welcome distraction. Everything had a sort of rhythmic pattern that let his hands move while his mind, focusing on the repetitive tasks, managed to get things in order and calm down. 

Possibly he’d overreacted with Peter and Ennis and the whole thing. He still thought something bigger was going on, but shouting like a lunatic probably wasn’t going to get him answers.

When she was done with him, Toya sent him on his way with some pudding cups and a kiss on the cheek, promising to call on him should they need more help.

“Oh, hey!” Scott called, spotting Stiles as soon as he left the kitchen. Scott’s face was less swollen and more scabbed now, the herbal scent of ointment still clinging to him.

“Hey.”

“I thought you were in the lab, but Lydia said she hasn’t seen you, so…”

“I was going there, but I remembered I’d promised Toya a couple hours.” 

“Oh, okay. So, uh, tomorrow…” Scott smiled hopefully, which pulled the scabs on his cheek grotesquely. They couldn’t heal quickly enough. “Do you think you could go out to dinner tomorrow night? With Kira and me?” 

Stiles scowled. “I already agreed, didn’t I?”

“I wanted to make sure you hadn’t changed your mind,” Scott said, unbothered by his tone. “So, I was thinking just a basic dinner and movie date, because she’s already nervous about going out, so something simple seemed like a good choice.”

“Cool.”

“Who else should come?”

“Just invite whoever. As long as I have someone to talk to while you and Kira gaze longingly at each other, I’m good.” Stiles put his hands in his pockets. “I think I’m going to the lab now.”

“Okay. Maybe I’ll come, too. Cora’s keeping Erica company, and Kira’s helping her mom in the gym, so I don’t have anywhere to be. Lydia will probably let me help out,” he said thoughtfully.

“You broke three beakers and a mug last time,” Stiles reminded him.

He grimaced. “Maybe I’ll go see if Laura needs any help instead, and we’ll hang out later.”

“Sure.” Stiles patted his shoulder. “Glad your face is healing, bro.”

“Thanks.” Scott swatted his arm, laughing.

Stiles breathed a relieved sigh when Scott split off in the other direction. Lying to Scott was easy, in theory. He wanted to see the best in everyone, which made it easy to take advantage. That same trait also tended to inspire people to do better and live up to expectation, which is why he was (seemingly) rarely wrong about people. 

Paige let Stiles into the lab this time. She didn't look happy to see him. “Peter’s in the room in the far right corner,” she said. She turned on her heel and went back to her work, duty done.

He hadn’t made any friends with his wild accusations and crazy talk, then.

As he passed by the cells, Jackson yowled indignantly, dragging his lizard claws over the glass, and Jeff, in the next cell over, murmured to himself, his eyes fever-bright but mostly human. 

Penny was human for the first time since Stiles had found out about them. She was crouched in the corner of her cell, whispering to herself and kneading her palms like a cat. 

Stiles nearly ran into Adam, who was standing outside of Sara’s cell. “Sorry,” he said, backing up quickly. 

Adam nodded but didn’t look away from the window, so Stiles skirted around him and went to the last door, where Peter was.

“Oh—god, gross!” He closed his eyes tightly, trying to forget what he’d seen when he opened the door. He put his hand over his eyes for good measure.

“You should’ve known what I was doing in here,” Peter said. “Close the door.” Once it was shut, he said, “You should also know that aside from enlarged adrenal glands and a strange chemical that smells somewhat like wolfsbane, there’s nothing abnormal about Ennis so far.”

Stiles’s eyes widened behind his hand. “His skin was bruised from those mutations!”

“I think that was this chemical. There’s wolfsbane in it, but it’s a breed I’m unfamiliar with. That, combined with whatever else they were pumping into him caused mutation and mental deterioration that prompted him to attack.”

“He ripped those humans limb from limb. That’s more than just—attacking the enemy.”

Stiles _almost_ dropped his hand. “Hi, Derek,” he said. “Didn’t see you there.”

“That’s because he’s sitting behind me,” Peter huffed. “And yes, there was certainly overkill, like he was furious. Or, well, rabid, but which is terribly distasteful to say.” He paused. “Hm. Rabid.” 

“What?”

“I’m not sure. I’m going to test his blood, try to figure out what was in that wolfsbane mixture. There might be a way to make an antidote of sorts, which might work on my patients.” The quick snap of a sheet followed his words. “Everything’s covered. Don’t touch anything,” he added as Stiles dropped his hand. “I’ll be right back.”

“You’ve been here all afternoon? I thought you weren’t staying long,” Stiles said. “Also, it’s freezing in here!” 

“Yeah. It’s like having my ankle on ice.” Derek shifted around in his chair. “Plus, Peter won’t let me help with anything.”

“Your crutches are a hindrance.”

“I know that!” Derek snapped. 

“Then don’t complain that no one lets you help!”

“I wasn’t complaining, I was-” Derek cut himself off and rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

“Yeah, _whatever_. Does it seem like Peter knows what’s going on or not?”

Derek was silent for a moment, glaring stonily at the far wall, before he bit out, “No. He seems excited when he talks about curing them, and frustrated otherwise.”

Stiles rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth. “Yeah. That’s—good. That is great, actually. It doesn’t explain why this is happening but Peter’s not involved at least.” He didn’t think he was. Was it possible to fabricate the scent of emotions? Could Peter trick Derek somehow into thinking he was frustrated? Would he _want_ to if he could?

Stiles had grown up surrounded by werewolves, but he was ashamed to admit, even to himself, that he didn’t know how their senses really worked. 

“You don’t have to stay in here. You’re not going to help him with the body,” Derek pointed out.

“No, I am not. I got intimately acquainted with his brain matter, so I won’t be made to feel guilty about not wanting to see the rest of his organs.” Stiles pulled one of the pudding cups out of his pockets and tossed it to Derek, who caught it, _of course._ “Spoon is glued to the side. I’m getting out of here before I lose my lunch.”

Derek was too busy frowning at the pudding cup to respond.

Stiles didn’t smirk until he’d turned around, because he was a mature adult.

Vivian, the vampire who’d administered serums to Sara when Stiles was here last, beckoned to him before he could leave and told him to hold a cup for her. Every few seconds, she’d dip a stirrer into the cup and smear it across a paper card, observe, and do it again on a different card on her table. 

“What is this?” he asked, tipping the cup slightly.

“Wolfsbane,” she muttered. “And water, but mostly wolfsbane.” 

“And what’re you doing with it?”

She swiped another card, looking frustrated. “Apparently nothing. Dammit.” She took the cup and slapped a lid on it, then wrote across it with Sharpie. “I-” She shook her head. “Phone,” she muttered. “Touch anything on my table at your own peril.” She left to get the phone, which Stiles couldn’t even hear ringing. 

He shrugged and backed away. He didn’t want to hang around anyway. The longer he stayed, the more aware he was of the quarantined patients, and the more he started to think about the things being hidden from everyone. Anxiety in a room with at least two vampires wouldn’t go undetected. 

“Peter!” Vivian called. “We need to take a gurney to the garage!”

“Why?” Stiles demanded, his heart tripping. “What’s going on?”

“Ry’s team is back, Danny says they’ve got another body for us,” Vivian said, snapping on some rubber gloves and rushing toward the door.

“Ry’s team? With Heather and Danielle?” Stiles asked, jogging to keep up with her. 

“Think so. They were going to get info, so it shouldn’t have been a combat situation. Get out of the way.” She elbowed him and pulled a gurney out of a closet. 

Peter arrived, too, and held the door open for her.

Stiles trailed after them, careful to keep out of their way. He had to see if the team was okay, and he had to see the body.

They got to the garage later than they had when Stiles and his team had arrived.

Nurses and Dr. Genesco were wheeling someone away on a gurney of their own, all talking rapidly and over each other. The back of the van, the bit Stiles could see, was smeared liberally with blood. 

Ry was standing beside the door, as bloody as the van. “The body’s in there. Peter.” He lifted his head. “That wasn’t a werewolf.”

Peter paused. “What?”

“That—Danny told us to be careful. Because of the werewolf that attacked Laura Hale’s team. That thing that attacked us—before she mutated, she wasn’t a werewolf.”

“Why do you say that?”

“She healed from the headshot.” He gestured vaguely toward the back of the van. 

Stiles leaned around Vivian so he could see.

The body was misshapen from bulging muscles and the thick wooden pole sticking out of her chest. 

“We can heal from headshots,” Vivian said slowly, “but it takes…a lot of time. And a lot of blood.” She looked around at Ry. “Why’d you stake her?”

“Because she woke up after we loaded her in the van! She almost killed my team!” Ry put his hands behind his head and paced away, swearing quietly.

“Who was hurt?” Stiles asked with forced calm.

“What?”

“Who was hurt?”

Ry grimaced. “Heather. They’re going to get an alpha to bite her if they can. She specifically asked for a wer resuscitation, not vampire, so we couldn’t—there wasn’t anything we could—fuck.” He walked away again.

Stiles backed away from the van. “I have to go see her.”

“Then go.” Peter waved him away, too focused on the body to care that Stiles felt like he might scream any second.

He swallowed thickly and ran out of the garage, nearly bowling over someone in the hallway. “Sorry!” he gasped without stopping.

Isaac must have known he was coming, because he was waiting in the hallway. “Don’t!” He caught Stiles and dragged him away from the doors. “Don’t go in there. They’re administering the bite right now. She’s lost a lot of blood but they think she’ll make it.” Isaac pressed his hands down on Stiles’s shoulders. “I know you two, um, you-”

“We’re friends,” Stiles said. “We had sex one night, but we’re _friends_.” He swallowed down the rising panic. “She’s a driver, Isaac.”

“I know. Danielle said she’s normally nowhere near combat. I’m sorry.” 

Stiles ran his hands down his face. “They’re giving her the bite?”

“Yes.” He hesitated, then offered, “She’s strong and healthy. She won’t reject it.” 

“Yeah.” Stiles stared over Isaac’s shoulder at the closed doors until his eyes burned.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your comments! They make me super happy!!!!! Here's chapter 11! After this, I think what everyone's waiting for will happen, so...we'll see. :D I hope you enjoy!!

Heather was moved to quarantine at eight that night. She hadn’t rejected the bite, but she’d reacted badly. Stiles went to Peter’s lab to visit her. He couldn’t help, but he wasn’t going to leave her alone, either. They put her beside Jackson, which left one observation cell open. 

“We’ll have to find more space if this keeps happening,” Vivian said softly before she walked away. 

Peter was in the cell with Heather, taking blood while she was still sedated. 

Her features were warped, almost like a partial change but stranger, painful-looking and off, like she was turning into a wolf with no fur. There was blood splashed all down her front, smeared down from her throat. The wounds were closed up, but Stiles could easily imagine the damage done, the rips in her flesh, blood bubbling up and pouring out while she—

Well, while she stabbed her attacker, according to Ry. She’d reacted quickly, even in pain, so at least she’d gotten to fight back. 

Stiles rubbed his mouth and his burning eyes, and crossed his arms again. 

Peter backed out of the cell quickly, passing the blood samples to someone and looking at Stiles. “Staring at her isn’t going to help.”

“Then what is?” Stiles snapped. His hands were going numb, pinned under his arms as they were. “What can I do to help? I can’t-” He shook his head.

“You should just get some-”

“If you tell me to rest, I’m going to hit you,” Stiles snarled. 

Peter held up his hands. “Food? Entertainment? There’s a movie on in rec room B.”

“Fine. Fine. I can’t just sit here anyway,” he muttered. He turned and put his hands behind his head, scrubbing at his hair. He nearly knocked into Adam as he walked out, but he sidestepped just in time. He swore and slammed the door behind him. His temper was boiling over but he had nothing to _do_ with it.

He found himself in the rec room before he knew it, storming in and pausing, disoriented by the change in atmosphere. 

Here, everyone was relaxed and happy, playing cards or pool or watching the movie on the television mounted on the wall. 

Stiles stood just inside the door, breathing harshly, his gaze jumping from person to person. He knew them all, really, at least in passing, if not by name. He spotted Danny playing poker with three other people and tipped his head thoughtfully. A smile curled the corner of his mouth. He’d only made it two feet in when Derek stepped in his path. He focused on him, startled. 

“Hey,” Derek said. “I didn’t know where to find you, but a couple hours ago, Peter found the same chemicals in that vampire’s blood as he found in Ennis’s blood.” 

“Oh?” Stiles couldn’t get to Danny, but Derek was right here. He smiled and tilted his chin back. “What’re you doing in here? Don’t you normally like to hang out in the library?” he asked, licking his lips. 

Derek look surprised. “I was just looking for you, to tell you about what Peter found.” 

“When?” Stiles asked, smiling. “Were you looking long?”

“Just after Peter ran the blood tests,” Derek said slowly. “I went to get some dinner and to check on Erica when no one knew where you went…”

“Ah. How’s your ankle?” He stepped closer, entering Derek’s space enough to test his reaction. 

“Better. The bone is mostly healed, so it’s just a little tender.” Interest lit his eyes _finally_ , like he was starting to catch on.

Stiles nodded, moving closer. “I was just looking for something to do,” he said casually.

Derek’s brows furrowed and Stiles slid closer, lifting a hand to rest on his arm.

A hand caught his wrist before he made contact. “Nope,” Scott said cheerfully, jerking Stiles’s arm so he was forced to do a 180. 

“What-?” Derek started, confused. 

“Sorry, Der, Stiles needs to come with me. We’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Let go,” Stiles said, low and furious. He tried to wrench his arm free, but Scott’s grip tightened; Stiles was more likely to dislocate his own arm than he was to get free. “What the hell, Scott? Let me go,” he snapped, yanking and half stumbling over his own feet as Scott dragged him out the door. 

Scott shook his head, letting the doors slam behind them. “I heard about Heather,” he said quietly.

Stiles stopped struggling. “So?” he demanded, his heart rate spiking. 

“So, using someone isn’t going to help.”

“What are you-” he began, firing up.

“What I’m saying,” Scott said patiently, “is that you won’t like yourself in the morning.” 

Stiles sneered, “I wasn’t planning on getting up until after noon, actually.” 

“As your best friend, someone who loves you for all your weird little habits without bias, I can’t let you do this,” he said firmly. 

Stiles glared at the floor, jaw working.

Scott took that as a good sign. “Come on. I’ve got all night.”

“You’re supposed to be following Kira around, daydreaming about your date.” He tried to pull free again, but feebly. 

“Stiles. You were giving Derek _the look._ ” 

“What look?” he squawked. 

“Don’t make me say it,” he pleaded. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Stiles insisted, glowering at the wall over Scott’s shoulder. 

“Fine. Listen to me: if you don’t feel better or distracted in fifteen minutes, we’ll go back in there, and I’ll play wingman to your terrible decisions, but I have to try, because you’ll just hate yourself and I’ll have to say ‘I told you so’, which I don’t like doing.”

Stiles sighed harshly. 

“Good. Come on.” Scott shifted his grip down to his hand and took him to the armory. He shoved some goggles on his face, ear muffs on his head, positioned him in front of a target, and slapped a gun in Stiles’s hand. “Go ahead!” he shouted. He had his high powered ear muffs on over ear plugs, so he probably didn’t know he was shouting.

Stiles tilted the gun, studying it and then his target. When the green light went on, he squeezed the trigger. 

 

After he’d emptied the clip, he flipped the safety on and set it down. He looked at Scott expectantly.

He smiled sympathetically. “Gym next?”

Stiles pulled his earmuffs off. “Yeah.” He wasn’t going to admit that he was right—beating on a punching bag vs athletic sex with a hot guy was no contest—but he did feel steadier on his feet. 

 

Scott, true to his word, stayed with Stiles all night, and bandaged his knuckles when they split open, got him water when he needed it, and sparred with him when the bag wasn’t cutting it anymore. By the time his manic energy fizzled out, Stiles was weaving on his feet and daylight was streaming in through the high windows. Weary acceptance took its place: Heather was sick, but she wasn’t hurt or dead, and sick people could be cured. 

“Come no, man, let’s get you some food. And a shower,” Scott said, bravely pulling Stiles’s arm over his shoulders. 

“Can’t I just go to bed?” he mumbled.

“No, sorry. You have to eat, and after that you’ll have just enough time for a shower before our meeting with Talia.”

Stiles cringed. “Is that this morning?” he asked weakly.

“You’ll make it. I’m going to pour about five gallons of coffee down your throat while we eat, just to prop you up during the meeting, then you can crash.” 

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” 

Breakfast and coffee did help. Stiles’s body still felt like it’d been run over, slowly and deliberately, by a truck, but he no longer felt like he was going to nod off where he was standing. His muscle aches eased a little after a hot shower. 

Scott dragged him to Talia’s office just after seven, where Laura and Erica were already waiting in the hallway. Laura was no longer using crutches, but she had a brace on over her jeans to keep her leg straight.

“You look like hell,” Erica observed.

“Thanks.” Stiles rubbed his face, which he hadn’t shaved. He probably looked like he’d spilled syrup on his cheeks and rolled around on a rug.

“You’re very welcome. Come here.” She held her arms out and pouted until he gave her a hug.

He felt the bandages still wrapped around her torso and jerked back. “Sorry, did I hurt you?”

“No, they’ve got so many layers of gauze on there I can’t feel a thing.” She patted his cheek affectionately. 

Jordan and Derek showed up next, talking about their morning jog and generally looking well-rested and healthy, the bastards. 

Stiles flushed when Derek caught him glowering, turning away pointedly. Hindsight sucked, and he hated admitting it. What had he been _thinking?_

Okay, Danny, sure, Danny wanted casual as much as Stiles did. Anyone who wasn’t aware of that was—it’d have been cruel and unfair of him. And Scott was right, he’d just wanted to use someone to distract himself. 

Cora arrived with Talia a few seconds later, so the group started filing into Talia’s office. 

Scott said, “Morning, Jordan!” and set his hand on his back. They exchanged pleasantries and followed Erica inside, leaving Derek and Stiles in the hall alone.

“Are you okay?” Derek asked. “What happened last night?”

Stiles forced a smile. “I forgot I had plans with Scott,” he said through stiff lips. “Sorry about that.”

“You look-”

“Erica already told me I look like shit,” he snapped. “As this thing stuck to the front of my head is _my_ face, I was aware of how it looked before I came here.” 

“I was going to say _tired_ , if you’d stop being so damn defensive for a second.”

“Oh. Well, that’s because I am.” He looked away, embarrassed.

Laura stuck her head out. “Would you two get in here? Mom’s ready.” 

“Right, yeah.” Stiles went in ahead of Derek so he could shoot Scott a venomous glare.

Scott smiled and shrugged as if he hadn’t done that on purpose. 

Stiles sat between Erica and Cora, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair.

“Laura’s already told me as much as she could,” Talia began. “It’s been a couple days now, but I’d like everyone’s accounts of the mission. Erica, Scott, Stiles? You three found Ennis first, so if you could start with when you split from the other three, I would appreciate it.” She swept her hair up in a ponytail and looked at them pointedly.

Erica went first, with Scott and Stiles adding in details that she missed or forgot, everything from the bloodied floors to the frigid air. 

“Boyd recorded everything from the moment that he realized something had gone wrong, but obviously that didn’t cover everything,” Talia murmured. “The woman we have inside one of their facilities, Ally Anderson, was transferred to an Idaho facility recently. She managed to plant bugs for us but has so far not been able to safely get out.” 

“Does she need to?” Cora asked. “They don’t suspect her, do they?”

“As far as I know, she only agreed to stay there as long as it took to place listening devices in strategic places. Before this, she worked in Satomi’s faction’s gym and refused to do fieldwork.”

Stiles frowned. “So why did she do this?”

“They needed a human who’d never been seen with any supernaturals or Pack affiliates by the OWH, and since she was adamant about staying in the bunker after the Pack took her in, she was a good choice.” 

“Can’t she just…quit?” Scott asked. “Wouldn’t that be the easiest way?”

Talia smiled. “I doubt there’s anything easy about quitting an organization like the OWH. She’s been with them for months. If she were to quit, they would undoubtedly watch her for a long while to make sure she doesn’t go running to us with whatever she’d learned.”

“That’s still simpler than sending someone in to get her,” Stiles pointed out.

“It might be years before she could safely come home,” Talia reminded him. 

“Are you asking us to do this?” Laura asked slowly. “Is that what I’m hearing?”

“It’s a possibility. I have to discuss it with Satomi. If she thinks Miss Anderson should stay in position, we’ll leave it alone. She isn’t compromised, but she asked specifically to be removed before summer.”

“Why?”

Talia glanced at her desk. “It seems that every summer, the Argent family goes to that facility and she wants out before they arrive.”

“Why? Is she scared to face the assholes who started this?”

“Something like that, I’m sure. She isn’t there to fight, so I don’t expect her to.”

Stiles scoffed, but when Talia stared at him, he straightened up and mumbled an apology.

“Peter said you were doing an interview,” Laura said slowly. “Why were you doing an _interview?_ ”

She looked embarrassed and annoyed. “We have to interact with the public, too, Laura. This isn’t all dead-of-night, armed break-ins. We need them to know that we’re people, with kids and parents and jobs. We can’t just let the OWH feed the public this garbage about us being animals or ticking time bombs. If they only hear _that_ , then why should they think anything different?” She took a breath. “Yes, we are letting people interview us. That’s another reason I need to speak to you.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “The OWH is planning something, obviously. There has to be a reason behind these abnormal attacks.” She sighed. “The station we give interviews to invited us back soon, because they’re doing an interview with the OWH. They want to give us the chance to defend ourselves when they’re making accusations.”

“So…” Laura prompted.

“So from now on field operatives will be wearing body cameras on their bulletproof vests, to gather intel and make sure we don’t miss anything, and so we can look back on the mission for details.”

Stiles looked over at Scott, too surprised to remember to ignore him. “That’s…new,” he settled with.

“We’ve been rescuing tortured supernaturals for years,” Talia said, flicking her gaze toward Derek. “Danny and Mr. Boyd have found a cheaper way to make cameras small enough now for video proof of what they’re doing to us.” 

Laura shrugged. “Fine. That doesn’t bother me.”

“I don’t care either. When’s our next mission?” Erica asked.

“You’ll know when it’s ready.” She sighed. “You’ve all also got appointments with Dr. Timmins, Dr. Morrell, and Dr. Bailey later so you can be cleared for fieldwork. Make sure you’re available.” She passed out appointment cards to each of them.

“Oh, joy,” Erica muttered, flicking hers against her legs.

“Anything else?” Laura asked. She pulled her hand through her hair. 

“That’s all I have for you at the moment.”

Stiles stood first. “Awesome. I’m going to see my dad if anyone needs me, and after that I’m going to sleep for as long as I can. If anyone wakes me up, you will regret everything.” He saluted Talia and waved at Laura. 

He slept all day, until his alarm woke him up at five so he could get dressed for Scott’s date, which wasn’t a thing he thought would ever happen to him. His muscles were still sore, so he dragged himself into another hot shower. When he stumbled out, towel slung around his hips, he considered the merits of backing out. 

Scott would forgive him, but he would probably also cancel altogether and they’d all have to watch him and Kira pining for _even longer._

Stiles got dressed. Since it was just dinner and a movie, he threw on jeans and a clean white t-shirt, then some layers to keep him from freezing. It wasn’t like he had anyone to impress. He was also bringing his gun and knife, concealed, obviously, and if Scott didn’t bring any weapons, Stiles was going to disown him.

By five-thirty, he was ready and felt better than he had when he’d first woken. He was starving, too, so he hoped Scott had picked somewhere close for dinner. 

“Hey,” Scott said when he made it to the front desk. “Kira’s already signed out,” he said cheerfully.

“Who else did you invite?” Stiles asked. He leaned down and signed out, then stepped out of the way. 

“Don’t be mad,” Scott said. “He didn’t have anything else to do.” 

“Who?” Stiles repeated more forcefully. 

Scott rolled his eyes, grabbed Stiles’s shoulders, and turned him around.

Jordan lifted a hand awkwardly. “Hey. Scott said you guys are going to dinner?”

“Uh—yeah. Yes. We are.” Stiles stepped back, planting the heel of his boot firmly on Scott’s instep, causing him to gasp. “Scott and Kira don’t want to go alone and I didn’t want to awkwardly sit in on their date, alone, so I told Scott to invite someone. And here you are! Which is just—great. So great. So, let’s—shall we?”

Jordan laughed. “Okay. Let me just sign out. Where are we going to eat?”

“There’s this barbeque place by the theater that’s really good and supernatural friendly,” Scott said. “I figured we could go there, then go see a movie. Let me go catch up with Kira. We’ll meet you guys outside.”

“Great,” Stiles said. He gave Scott a fierce look when Jordan wasn’t paying attention.

Scott grinned and waved. 

“I haven’t been out—except for missions—in months. Since I transferred here, really,” Jordan said, stretching his arms over his head. When he smiled, Stiles could see three sharp teeth on each side. 

“Oh, really? I don’t think I could stay cooped up for so long,” he said conversationally. 

Jordan laughed. “You’re as bad as the wolves. Didn’t you grow up here?”

Stiles bristled. “Yes, with the Hales. They’re our family.” 

“I didn’t mean anything bad. It’s just that you fit in with—us, that’s all. It’s strange to see, with everything going on out there.”

He forced himself to relax; Jordan wasn’t the enemy. “Right. I did grow up here, yeah. So did my mom. My dad’s family lived as civilian liaisons—they provided a safe haven for supernaturals on their way here. Then my parents met and they moved here.” He shrugged. “I think I knew more werewolves than humans growing up.”

Jordan nodded. “Yolanda Santos got me out of a tight spot in Texas a few years ago. Up until then, I lived with my family.”

There was an awkward pause where Stiles wasn’t sure whether he should ask about that “tight spot” and Jordan wasn’t sure if telling him without being asked was oversharing, but Scott and Kira spotted them and saved them before it stretched too long.

“Hey, come on. It’s a short walk!”

“Hi, Kira,” Stiles said. 

“Hey. Do you feel okay? Scott mentioned your friend is sick.”

“Yeah, I’m okay.” He didn’t want to think about Heather, because he’d just get all worked up again. “Is everyone ready?” he asked. “I’m _starving._ ”

“That’s because you slept all day,” Scott teased, poking his ribs.

The barbeque place—Average Andee’s—had _bouncers_ , or at least heavy security, and a large sign on the wall:

‘ **As this is still America, we reserve the right to refuse service to anyone who mistreats our customers. No bigotry or violence will be tolerated.** ’

The door handles were made of stainless steel instead of silver, which was more popular these days. Scott grabbed them and grinned, showing his unharmed palm.

“That’s nice,” Jordan said, holding the inner door for everyone else.

“Thanks.”

Kira hesitated inside, looking surprised. She sniffed discreetly. “Oh, wow. They weren’t kidding,” she breathed, her gaze skipping from patron to patron.

“Let me take ya’ll to a table. Four?” the host asked, smiling.

“Yes, please,” Scott replied.

“At least half the people in here are wolves or vamps,” Jordan said in Stiles’s ear. “Scott wasn’t exaggerating when he said they were supernatural friendly.” He looked surprised, too. 

Stiles wasn’t surprised; there weren’t many places that were outright with their support like this. “Anyone like you?” he asked.

Jordan shook his head. “We usually keep to our families.”

Stiles waved at a small vampire in a high chair, making her giggle and flash her baby fangs, much to her parents chagrin, but he stopped to look at Jordan incredulously. “There are families here,” he pointed out.

Jordan laughed a little. “I didn’t mean our birth-”

“Here’s a table for you. Your waitress will be right over for your drink orders.”

Stiles slid into the side of the booth facing the door, which luckily put him across from Jordan. Since Scott had invited him to keep Stiles company, he figured he’d better make an effort at conversation.

It wasn’t so bad; it was better when the food came, since they didn’t have to talk as much. Jordan was twenty-seven, had recently transferred from Alpha Santos’s faction, and enjoyed fieldwork. He’d transferred with Boyd because they were friends and Talia had asked for a sniper, so it worked out. He enjoyed jogging and other forms of torture he called “exercise”, and crinkle cut fries with an obscene amount of ketchup on them. 

Stiles was bored out of his mind. Jordan was attractive and nice and interesting, so he wasn’t really sure what the problem was. He felt antsy, like he wanted to be anywhere else, and found himself paying more attention to Kira and Scott, who were smiling at each other and shyly talking about their shoes or something.

Actually, Jordan and Danny would be a cute match, except Danny was perfectly willing to give Stiles naked lock picking lessons, then bang (a second time) on the floor of the tech lab. Stiles got the feeling that Jordan might be a little bothered by that. He could be wrong. Maybe he should set those two up and see if any fireworks went off. It wasn’t like Jordan was dating anyone. 

“Does anyone have preferences for the movie?” Scott asked as they were leaving.

“No horror,” Stiles said firmly. He stepped back when someone almost walked into him; the guy bumped Jordan instead, nearly knocking him off the sidewalk. Stiles caught the sleeve of his jacket before he stumbled into the street. “Rude!” he called over his shoulder.

The man kept walking, flipping him off without turning around.

“Yeah, whatever,” he muttered. 

Jordan brushed at his sleeve where the guy had run into him, looking disgusted. When Stiles asked what was wrong, he held up his hand. His palm gleamed with silver dust.

“What a fucking jerk,” he seethed, spinning on his heel.

Scott caught the collar of his jacket and yanked him back. “No one got hurt, and besides, that guy is long gone by now.”

“Thanks, though,” Jordan said, grinning. “It’s sweet that you want to defend me, or something.”

“Heh, yeah.” Stiles would have reacted the same no matter who he was with, because that kind of shit wasn’t acceptable, but he wasn’t going to say that. “Are you okay?” he asked awkwardly.

“Silver doesn’t hurt me,” Jordan aid. “It’d kind of defeat the purpose, wouldn’t it?”

Stiles shook his head. “I don’t really know that much about—um, you.”

He looked amused. “I understand. Do you have any questions?”

“I always have questions about everything,” he laughed. Then he held up a hand. “But tonight should be fun, so if I buy your movie ticket, will you get me some popcorn?”

Jordan smiled. “Sure.”

Kira picked the movie (a spy thriller. The heroines killed the bad guys and confessed their epic love to each other and ran off to live in Greece together). Jordan didn’t seem to know what to make of Stiles’s bad movie habits, but he was too polite to tell him to shut-up, so Stiles made an effort to keep his comments to himself or at least to Scott. Until Scott and Kira started kissing and left Stiles awkwardly shoveling popcorn into his mouth.

“Have you met Danny?” Stiles asked as they walked home.

Kira and Scott were just ahead of them holding hands. 

“Not really—I saw him once when we first got here. He’s the guy Boyd works with, right?”

“Yeah. He’s pretty awesome. He’s kind of magic with computers. He’s usually good about people popping in his lab now and then, if you don’t touch anything.”

“Cool,” Jordan said slowly. “You don’t…” he trailed off with a frown. “Ah…hang on a second.” He jogged ahead, past Kira and Scott, and turned down an alley.

“What?” Scott frowned and followed him.

Stiles caught up to Kira. “He didn’t say anything,” he said with a headshake. 

“No!” Jordan shouted suddenly. 

Stiles drew his gun, flipped the safety, and ran, stumbling when he saw them.

A group of adults was surrounding a teenager, whose face was smeared with blood. They all had silver knives, and the girl had several inflamed gashes on her arms. 

Jordan and Scott each had their own guns out, too. Jordan’s eyes were doing their burning thing. Kira ran up beside Stiles, holding a gun with steady hands. 

“Get out of here,” Stiles said sharply.

“Why should we? There are more than enough of us to stake this leech and cut you bitches in half.” 

“You have knives, we’ve got four guns on you. If you think you’re fast enough, go ahead and try it.” Stiles smiled and shrugged. “You won’t get far.” 

The teenager let out a muffled sob and more blood ran from her eyes. 

“Whatever.” One of the adults lunged, his knife flashing as he dove at her.

She cringed and jerked back, but Jordan caught the man’s jacket before he reached her, swinging him back into the bricks behind them and snarling. His six fangs lengthened as he growled.

“Nope, I’m not getting shot. Undead bitch isn’t worth it.” 

“That’s a bad stereotype!” Stiles called, stepping aside to let them through. He turned to keep his eye on them until they were far away. 

Jordan and Scott helped the girl to her feet. “Do you have somewhere we can take you?” Jordan asked.

She shook her head. “I’m fine, they just—they threw silver dust in my face and cut me, so they managed to corner me while I was disoriented.” She used her shirt to wipe her face. “I was just meeting someone on the other side of town.” She squinted at Jordan and cleared her throat. “Thank you for your help.” She glanced around at Kira and Stiles and looked confused. “Where’s your charge, hound?” 

Jordan stepped back, looking uncomfortable, so Scott took over. “We’d be happy to escort you to meet your friend. It’s not really safe to walk around alone.”

“That’s okay. I can make it from here, then I won’t be alone. Thank you for your help.” She shot Jordan another confused look before slipping around them and out of the alley.

“That was anticlimactic,” Stiles decided. “Should we follow confrontation protocol?”

“Those guys are gone,” Kira said slowly. “I watched them. They haven’t turned around once or crossed the street.” 

“Nice.” Stiles high-fived her and put his gun away.

“Do you have questions _now_?” Jordan asked tiredly as they left the alley.

“Just one: was she being insulting when she called you—that?”

“What—hound? No, it’s just English for what we are.” He smiled weakly. 

“Okay. Hound.” Stiles didn’t really like it, but he guessed it was sort of like calling Scott a wolf or Boyd a vamp. “Huh. Since I already asked…”

“Go ahead.”

“What’s your _charge_?”

Jordan hummed. “ _Who_ is my charge. No one, really, at the moment. Hounds used to guard vampire families while they slept. Back when they were nocturnal and humans believed they existed, but before they were public.” He shrugged. “My last family was killed by the OWH. Alpha Santos sent some people to get me out. They held onto me, because they thought I was some kind of werewolf, and then when they realized I wasn’t, they wanted to learn about how to hurt my kind, too.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Stiles twisted his hands in the hem of his jacket. “I’m sorry for this too,” he said. “What did they do?”

“They realized I wasn’t a werewolf, ran electricity through me until I changed, and put a collar on me.” His face darkened. “Boyd had to get it off me. It had a code of some kind and it stayed on when I changed back.”

“Shit,” Stiles breathed. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up. Um. Once, I stepped on my own foot and launched myself down a flight of stairs. I gave myself a concussion.”

Jordan let out a surprised laugh. “Okay…?”

“I wanted to change the subject and make you laugh.” Stiles lifted his hands. “I have a ton of stories like that. Should I go on?”

“No, that’s okay. Thanks.”

At the bunker, Scott and Kira went off to say their private goodnight and Stiles said the most awkward goodnight to anyone in his life and fled. He hoped Danny liked him, because Jordan was actually a cool guy and they deserved some fun. Danny probably would like him. 

“Where have you been?” Derek asked, looking surprised when Stiles came into their hallway. 

He flipped his hand over his shoulder. “Jordan and I went to dinner with Scott and Kira. And we also saw a movie.”

“Oh.” Derek’s brows furrowed. “You and Jordan?”

Stiles felt his lips press together. “Yep,” he said, forcing himself to start walking again. He just had to get past Derek to get to his door. “We had fun,” he said with a little thrill of vindictive glee, though he wasn’t sure why. 

“Oh,” Derek said again. “That’s…good,” he said through his teeth.

“Did you _need_ something?” Stiles asked, just short of snapping. He didn’t know why he was so irritated. 

Derek’s shoulders tensed. “Yes, actually,” he snapped. “I was going to tell you that Heather was awake. Peter said I shouldn’t since she isn’t lucid, but I thought you’d want to know.”

Stiles felt the fight drain out of him. “Oh. Thanks. Um, I’m just—I’m just going to bed, I think.”

“You had a long night,” Derek said, the edge of his sarcasm cutting at Stiles’s already frayed nerves.

“Look, Scott invited Jordan, not me, so if you’re upset, you should talk to the two of them. He shouldn’t have agreed to come if you two are…” He felt like he was going to scream. “Whatever,” he muttered, kicking his door open.

“Stiles-”

“Just go away,” he breathed. He closed the door and flipped the lock, suddenly exhausted.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Here's chapter 12! I hope you enjoy it! ;)

Stiles was visiting Heather when his team was called for their mission. Adam and Vivian were the only others in the lab with him; everyone else was getting sleep. He could hear them talking occasionally, but he really couldn’t make out their words. 

Heather was curled up in a patchy-furred ball in the corner, growls escaping her muzzle every few breaths. 

“Talia called,” Vivian said. “She’s calling your team to her office. You’ve got a mission.”

“Okay.” He stood up and rubbed his face. 

“Hey, um.” Adam stepped in front of him. “Just so you know, you’re not doing yourself or Heather any favors just sitting here. You should let us take care of her.” 

Stiles scowled briefly. “I want to help.”

Adam nodded. “I know, but we aren’t…” He sighed. “We are all trained for lab work. At best, you’re just wasting time here when you could be helping somewhere your skillset could be used. Here you can, what, help us take notes or hold cups or trays?”

“What-”

“I’m just saying maybe you should just come visit Heather, instead of getting underfoot.”

Stiles scoffed. “Sure, Adam. Thanks for the advice. Because _you’re_ here on a strictly professional basis, right?”

His face flushed, but all he said was, “I’ve worked in the lab for years, before these patients were brought here.” 

“Stiles,” Vivian called. “Talia needs you to come now.”

“Right.” He shook his head and stepped around Adam. 

The rest of the team was already in Talia’s office, seated and talking among themselves. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, sitting down next to Scott.

“You’ll be heading to Idaho,” Talia said. “You’re going to get Miss Anderson out as a hostage. This particular facility is known for being fairly busy day and night, so it’s the easiest way. You will be taking assault weapons, and Alexa and Danielle will be your drivers. You’ll leave in the morning, so you should get your gear ready tonight.”

“So we do whatever it takes to get her out?” Stiles asked slowly.

“If she goes with you too willingly, they’ll suspect something and probably look for any tampering.” Talia lifted her hands. “Your job is to make a mess and get her out while they’re ducking for cover.” 

“Alright. Come on,” Laura said, standing. “Let’s go get packed. I want to bring Lydia’s smoke bombs just in case.” 

Stiles snorted. “Yay.”

She pinched his arm lightly. “I said just in case.” She stood and gestured at the rest of them to do the same. “What time do we leave?”

“Seven.” 

“Okay. Thanks,” Laura mumbled. 

Talia smiled. “Go get ready.” 

Stiles and Scott went to the lab to pick up smoke bombs, while Erica and Cora hit up the armory and Laura and Derek went to pack provisions. 

Lydia was alone in the lab when they got there. 

“You weren’t here a few minutes ago,” Stiles said with some surprise. 

“No, I wasn’t.” She had her hair bundled up but tangled, like she’d just gotten out of bed. “I wanted to catch you guys before you left.” She put a crate on the table in front of her. “The purple is the one that knocks humans unconscious, yellow will paralyze them-”

Scott nodded seriously. “And white is just smoke cover, red burns their eyes and noses. We know.”

“There’s enough in here for each of you to have two. Don’t forget to put them in the van, please.”

“Of course not,” Scott said with a quick smile. “Thanks for putting this together for us.” He picked up the crate. “We have to leave early, so we’re packing up now.”

“No problem,” she replied tiredly. When they both went to the door, she called, “Hey, Stiles, could you hold on a second? I need to talk to you.”

Stiles shrugged and waved Scott on without him, turning back to her. “Yeah, what’s up?”

“I have something for you,” she said quietly, glancing over her shoulder. 

 

He met Scott in the hallway a few minutes later.

“What was that about?” Scott asked, putting his hands in his pockets as they headed to the tech lab.

“Oh just—she just wanted to talk about Jackson and Heather,” Stiles said casually. “And warn me not to get hurt again.” 

“Ah.” Scott shrugged. “Cool.”

Boyd was the only one in the tech lab when they arrived. “Hey,” he said, setting down his mug and standing up. “Danny put all of the cameras on the vests already.” He led them past the various monitors and work stations. “There.”

The vests were hanging like they usually did in the garage, organized by size. 

Stiles grabbed his size and checked the front. “So…do we have to turn them on or will they just…record everything?” The camera was round and black, up near the right shoulder. 

“You just twist the lens when you put the vest on and it’ll activate. We’ll get the feed here and our computers will store the videos in your vest’s folder.” He rubbed the back of his head. “Tracking systems have so far been a bust, but we thought these would work for now.”

“Alright.” Stiles draped his over his arm and grabbed one each for Cora and Erica, too. “Thanks.” 

“No problem. Is Jordan going with you guys?”

“No, he is not,” Stiles said a little stiffly. 

Scott muffled a laugh against the three vests in his hands. “We’ll let you get back to your dinner,” he said cheerfully. 

When they left, Stiles punched his arm. “What’re you laughing at?”

“Nothing!” Then, snorting to himself, “So…didn’t you have a good time the other night?”

“I mean, it wasn’t terrible, and the food was good.” 

“But…”

“But Jordan’s not my type,” he said awkwardly, shrugging. 

Scott raised his eyebrows like he was surprised, but his eyes gleamed with mirth. “Oh, really? Fit, attractive, smart…” He shrugged. “ _Sounds_ like your type,” he said with an uncharacteristically mischievous smile. 

“I…don’t know,” Stiles said slowly, confused. “It just…was—boring. I don’t know.”

“Well,” Scott scoffed. “See if I set you up again.”

“Why are you still laughing?” Stiles demanded, elbowing him. “You look all smug and weird and—oh my god. Did you do it on purpose?”

“Do what?” he asked innocently. 

“Did you _know_ I wouldn’t like Jordan? Why are you so _mean?_ ”

“That’s not true! You like him fine,” Scott insisted.

“He’s a good guy,” Stiles mumbled. “But you _knew_ I wouldn’t like him like—like a date, you asshole!” 

“Stiles,” Scott said patiently. “How was I supposed to know that? Lydia, Danny, and Isaac were busy, so I asked Jordan.” 

Stiles frowned at him, because now he couldn’t figure out if he was lying or not. “You were going to ask Isaac?” he finally asked. 

“As a friend, I figured, maybe.” He shrugged. “You’re getting paranoid in your old age.”

“Then what were you laughing at?”

“I mean, just because I find it funny doesn’t mean I did it on purpose.” He smiled. “You’ve been in a bad mood since then. Is that why?”

“No,” Stiles muttered. “I’m just worried about Heather, that’s all.”

“Don’t get distracted. If Laura thinks you’re not paying attention, she’ll have you taken off fieldwork.” 

Stiles grimaced. “I won’t. Getting back to work is exactly what I need. I can’t just sit here.”

 

The Idaho facility was huge. Stiles had known some of the buildings were, the further east they got, but for some reason he wasn’t expecting this one to be. Boyd was monitoring their comms again, and Alexa, one of their drivers, was very picky about where they would meet. 

“Just keep in contact,” she said. “I’m dropping you off here, but we’re waiting two blocks down unless you call us for a pick up.” 

“Got it.” 

They did surveillance from the van for an hour or so. The findings did not encourage Stiles. 

“We can’t go in shooting right off the bat. They’ll just lock down the building,” Scott said.

“I know. Why do they have so many people out front?” Laura growled.

“It’s a week night,” Erica murmured. “All hands on deck, maybe. That guy by the door is complaining that he should’ve been off two hours ago.” 

“We’ll have to go in with the smoke bombs,” Laura decided. “There’s just too many of them. I don’t feel comfortable going in guns blazing.”

Stiles scowled. “So I should…what, wait in the van?”

“No, you’ll just wait nearby. The smoke will clear from the lobby soon, then you can come in behind us if we need help. We’ll call for you when it’s time.”

“Right,” he scoffed. “Are we doing this now or what?”

She looked at him sharply, but all she said was, “Yeah, we’re going in now.”

“Keep in touch,” Danielle said firmly.

Stiles climbed out first, looping the strap of his gun over his torso and scowling more before he turned his camera on.

Scott patted his shoulder. “You’d faint because of the smoke,” he said. He twisted his camera. “Is it on, Boyd?” 

“Yes, I can see Stiles. Derek, your cam’s on, too. What’re you facing?” he asked, sounding confused, but he didn’t wait for an answer. “Erica, Cora, Laura, cameras, please.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Cora mumbled, turning hers on.

“Stay right here, out of sight, until we call for you,” Laura said. “It’s too dangerous for you to come in if we’re using the smoke bombs.”

“I _know_ , Laura, I’m not six.” He slammed the van doors so Alexa could drive off.

“Maybe I should stay here, too,” Scott said, eyeing the assault rifles warily. He and Cora still weren’t certified to use them.

“No, we’ll need your help to watch our backs. Just wait,” Laura repeated to Stiles, leading the group away.

Stiles scoffed and hunkered down with his gun across his knees. 

Scott grimaced apologetically and followed the others, pulling his handgun out.

“She should be on the first floor, so your best bet is to jam the stairwells and elevators and try to find her as quickly as possible. You’ve all seen pictures, right?” Boyd asked.

Stiles pulled out the black case Lydia had given him before he’d left. He unzipped it and frowned thoughtfully at the mask. 

Over his comm, he could hear crackling and shouting; the team was throwing smoke bombs into the lobby and rushing in.

Lydia had designed a gasmask of sorts—regular gasmasks didn’t work against her smoke bombs, which was why they hadn’t tried them before—but it wasn’t quite finished yet. She said she’d let him test it _if_ he didn’t advertise it and only if there was an emergency. 

The mask would only go over his mouth and nose. The eyewear she’d included would only protect his eyes for about four minutes, of course, because she wasn’t done developing them and working equipment would make things too easy, wouldn’t it?

He thumbed the mask, snorting slightly. He’d told Lydia he’d look like a cartoon villain wearing it; her response had been, “Well, it’s better than fainting again, isn’t it?” She wasn’t wrong.

“We’ll split up,” Laura decided, her voice muffled. “Cora, you and Erica go right. Derek, keep an eye out front in case those guys start waking up, and Scott, come with me.” 

Stiles fidgeted anxiously. The last time they’d split up had been a disaster. He pressed his fingers against his mouth to keep from saying so, closing his eyes to listen to them fighting, shooting, swearing. He tipped his head, cringing when someone yelped.

“Stiles, are you okay?” Boyd asked urgently, startling him.

“What? Yes. Why?”

“Because you were so quiet we thought you’d died,” Derek muttered.

“ _No_ , something’s obscuring your camera,” Boyd said.

“Shit, sorry, I was leaning on it.”

Boyd sighed.

Derek’s next words were drowned by a short burst of gunfire, followed by a low grunt and the sound of a fight.

Stiles leaned forward on the balls of his feet. “Derek?”

More grunting and muffled hits. 

“Guys?”

“Hands are full,” Laura growled. “Drop it,” she ordered dangerously.

“Erica-” Cora gasped, followed by more gunfire. 

Stiles looked at the mask in his lap. Since _Talia_ hadn’t given him the order to stay put, he _probably_ wouldn’t get grounded for going in to help.

“Stiles,” Boyd said.

“Well,” he sighed, picking the mask up, “I can’t very well stay here all night.” He put the mask over his face, untangling his comm’s wire from it. 

“Don’t even-” Laura started, but she was cut off by a shot that was so close to her comm that Stiles winced. 

“Derek’s up front, and from the looks of his cam, he’s bleeding and there are several assailants,” Boyd said tightly. 

Stiles put the glasses on and pulled out two of the purple smoke bombs. 

“They’re to the immediate left,” Boyd reported.

“Thanks. Derek?”

The only response he got was a vague groan.

“Well, I guess that decides it,” he breathed, and ran for the building. He pulled the door open and threw in the bombs first, waiting until the smoke had filled the room before he went in himself.

He braced for that tell-tale fuzzy feeling in his throat that came with Lydia’s smoke, but it didn’t come. He let out a relieved huff and lifted his gun to the left, squinting through the thick smoke for the enemies. 

The people Derek had been fighting were choking, covering their faces uselessly with their shirts and clawing at their eyes, bumping into each other and stumbling over their own feet. Behind them, the door to a stairwell had been kicked open. 

Derek was on the floor with a knife in his thigh and his face bloodied, staring up at the only woman still standing upright, a gun pointed at his face. He bared his teeth at her and she coughed, her hand tightening around the gun; Stiles shot her first.

Derek turned his face away at the noise, cringing. When he didn’t die, he turned back and made a face when he saw Stiles, mostly judgment aimed at the mask, he was sure.

One of the guards got up on his knees and whipped his gun up, leveling it at Stiles.

He shot him before he got a chance to fire a round. “Sorry, dude, but I’ve got like three minutes,” he said, patting Derek’s shoulder. He found Derek’s gun by one of the now-unconscious guards and kicked it to him.

“Cora and Erica went right. Cora’s fighting, Erica’s got Anderson,” Boyd reported.

“Got it.” Stiles had to step over prone bodies to get to the hall where he could hear the commotion. Reddish smoke filled the hall.

Erica was fighting a man for her gun when he found her, and she was mostly winning. She twisted it until the muzzle pressed into his chest and squeezed the trigger. “Moron,” she spat, kicking the body out of her way. When she saw Stiles, she repeated, “Moron!” in a shocked tone.

“Would you just come on?” he snapped. His eyes were streaming as the smoke began to seep through the goggles. 

“Take her—I’ll go get Cora. She’s doing fine, but all she’s got is that stupid handgun.”

“What’d you do to her?” he demanded, bending to check the woman’s pulse. 

“We threw smoke bombs, found her among the others, and grabbed her. Are you going or what?”

His vision was partially obscured now from the burning and the reflexive tears, but he said, “Yeah, go help Cora.” He got Anderson over his shoulders and stood up, feeling his way along the wall as it became harder and harder to see. 

Over the comm, he heard Erica disabling a couple more people on her way to Cora while Laura snapped at Scott to start heading toward the front again while she cleared the room they’d found. 

The purple smoke hadn’t cleared from the lobby yet, and the mask was reaching its limits, if the tickle in Stiles’s throat meant anything. He stumbled, nearly dropping her, but then Derek was there, scooping her up.

Derek said something, his face twisted in a snarl, but Stiles couldn’t hear him—he shoved past him to get outside, ripping the mask away and gasping in the fresh air. Tears rolled down his face from his burning eyes as he choked, bending double when he started gagging.

Scott pulled him upright by the shoulders and thrust his head back, dumping bottled water over his face unceremoniously.

“Scott—enough,” he gasped, turning his face away.

“Are they still burning?” he barked. He grabbed Stiles’s chin so he could check his eyes. 

Stiles blinked water out of his eyes, surprised to find Scott’s face spattered with blood. “No, I’m good. What happened?”

He lifted his arm, annoyed. “Wolfsbane on a knife,” he mumbled. “I already took care of it,” he added when Stiles looked alarmed.

“We have to get to the van,” Laura snarled. She looked _furious_ , and Stiles absolutely cowered behind Scott.

“Derek needed help,” Boyd pointed out. “They got his gun away from him when they busted in through the door that I _told you_ to block off.”

“I thought we did,” Cora seethed, wiping blood from her hands. 

“Do you need help carrying her?” Scott asked, turning to Derek.

“No,” he growled. 

Stiles didn’t need to turn around to know that Derek was glaring at his back. “I’m just going to point out that I did help,” he said carefully. “And that Derek almost got shot in the face.” 

Laura sighed. “Come on, we have to get back before they start waking up.”

As they left, Laura fell back to walk beside Derek; Stiles heard her ask him if he’d really almost gotten shot and picked up his pace to walk with Erica. 

To say the ride home was tense and awkward would be a gross understatement. Laura had mostly gotten over it, deciding to take a win where she could get it, and Cora’s only complaint was that she would have to get certified for assault weapons. 

The tension was bleeding from Derek’s corner of the van, where he was scowling and fuming the _entire ride._

Two guesses as to who he was glaring at.

 

“We’ll take Anderson to the infirmary,” Scott volunteered as soon as the van was parked in the garage.

Cora helped and, suspiciously, so did Erica. 

The woman wasn’t that heavy; Stiles had lifted her himself, so there was no reason three werewolves had to carry her. He glared after them as they fled, their gazes firmly averted. 

“I’m just gonna…go check in with Mom. Yep. You two just…” Laura left, too, which was unexpectedly cowardly of her. 

Stiles took one look at Derek’s face and turned on his heel. “I’m going to bed,” he announced. 

Danielle shook her head at them, but Alexa smiled sympathetically, waving as he practically ran from the garage.

Unfortunately, Derek lived in the same hall, so he had the perfect excuse to shadow Stiles forebodingly all the way to his room. He thought he was home free when he reached their hall, sure Derek would split off to his own room. It came as something of a surprise when Derek grabbed his vest and spun him around, slamming him back against the wall next to his own door.

“You fucking _idiot!_ ”

“Oh, here we go. Why am _I_ the idiot?” Stiles snapped, bringing his arms up and breaking Derek’s grip. “Because _I_ wasn’t the one staring down the barrel of a .45, jackass!”

“You could have been shot! You didn’t know any of their positions or if that stupid toy on your face would protect you from the smoke!” Derek fisted his hand in Stiles’s vest, shoving him back again. “You just keep doing this, all you’re doing is distracting us!”

“Ha!” Stiles squirmed away and kicked open his door. “You’re the one who needed help,” he snapped. He gasped, infuriated, when Derek pushed him over the threshold and stepped in himself, slamming the door behind him.

“Yeah, maybe, but not yours.”

Stiles bared his teeth. “I’ll remember that next time there’s a gun on you, then,” he snarled, yanking his vest and all attached wires off. He fumbled with his utility belt, shaking with fury.

“You aren’t listening,” Derek growled, and shoved Stiles into the wall again.

Stiles rolled his eyes and twisted, grabbing Derek’s shirt and slamming _him_ into the wall. “And _you_ need to stop pushing me!”

“Stop running into gunfire!” They were just yelling into each other’s faces now; Stiles was close enough to see that Derek’s teeth were just that much sharper than normal in his fury.

“Stop telling me what to do!” Stiles’s nostrils flared, his face hot. “You’re such a dick!” 

It was as sudden as their fight; Stiles didn’t know who’d lunged first, but they were kissing, all teeth and furious pressure. Stiles’s nails cut into Derek’s shoulder, yanking at his shirt to get at the skin.

Derek gasped and pulled it over his head, then yanked Stiles’s t-shirt off. “Why are you always wearing so many layers?”

“It’s fuckin’ cold,” Stiles mumbled, laughing when Derek bunched his tank top in his fists and tore, throwing the shreds to the floor. He shoved Derek’s shoulders back and dropped to his knees, pulling at his belt and biting at his hips since he was already down there.

Derek snarled and grabbed a fistful of his hair, pulling him back up so he could kiss him again. He fumbled with his pants himself, so Stiles got to work on his own. Derek kicked his boots off, then his cargos, while Stiles searched through his desk drawers. A hand closed hard around his bicep and spun him around. Derek's mouth crushed his, then slid down, biting hard at his jaw and throat, his hands sliding down his sides.

Stiles moaned, let his head fall back. “God, just fuckin—just—” He grabbed Derek’s hair and set his teeth against his neck, making him whine and clench his hands on Stiles’s hips. “Yeah. Just move.” He already knew just what he wanted at this moment. “Sit down.”

“What?” Derek blinked at him, confused and mussed. 

Stiles shoved him back a step, then pushed him toward the desk. “Sit down,” he said again. When Derek hesitated, he grabbed his hips and lifted, dropping his bare ass on the wood. “Don’t get used to it,” he laughed when Derek looked stunned. “Pretty sure that was adrenaline. Better grab onto something,” he added, getting back to business and ducking down. He wasn’t at all surprised when Derek chose to grab his hair, his fingers flexing in shock. 

 

Something was pressing against Stiles’s hip. He didn’t particularly want to move, sprawled as he was over the floor, Derek, and their discarded clothes, but it felt like the heel of a boot or something, and it was starting to hurt. He grunted and rolled onto his side, only enough to pull the boot out from under him. Then he flopped back down on his stomach, sighing.

Derek set his hand on Stiles’s back. “What’re you doing?” he mumbled.

Stiles turned his head, resting his cheek on his arm. “I was laying on your shoe,” he said. When he caught the unhappy expression on Derek’s face, he frowned. “What?”

Derek shrugged and looked away. “I better go,” he said finally.

“Why?” Stiles stretched and sat up. 

Derek looked annoyed and sat up, too. “Because I-” he cut himself off, shaking his head. “Forget it.”

“What? Don’t hold back _now_.” Stiles pulled his knees in, irritated that he felt more exposed now than he had when they’d been having sex. “What’s your problem?”

“I don’t want this to be just a one night thing!” he blurted, his face reddening. “I don’t. So—I’m leaving.”

Stiles grimaced. “Just wait, okay? I’m sorry,” he mumbled, embarrassed. “I normally...before I do anything—I just always make myself clear,” he said carefully. “Usually I make sure everyone’s on the same page, otherwise it’s not fair.”

“Why didn’t you this time?” he asked, sounding more curious than accusing.

Stiles shrugged. “I guess I was distracted.” He frowned because no, that wasn’t right. He’d been distracted before. Maybe no one drove him to distraction quite like Derek managed to. That was true, at least. 

“Stiles?”

He looked up and managed an uncertain smile. “Too eager,” he said, forcing a laugh.

“Oh.” Derek pulled his pants into his lap. He looked uncomfortable, which was unfortunate, because fifteen minutes ago, he’d been stretched across the floor looking all smug and satisfied. It was an irritatingly good look on him. He asked, mostly addressing his pants, “Does it—this—have to be a one-time thing?

It was a fair question. Usually there was a clear understanding before this, and a mission after, so it wasn’t one Stiles had considered. He also hadn’t dared considering _Derek_ , here, naked, either, so clearly things just happened sometimes. 

“I guess…I don’t see why it has to be,” he said carefully. 

He looked up, eyes widening. “What—really?”

“You asked,” Stiles snapped, crossing his arms over his knees. “Did you want me to say something else?”

Derek rolled his eyes. “I didn’t expect that answer. You—just never mind.”

Stiles scowled. “What do you want?”

“You!” Derek flushed deep red and turned away, working his jaw. 

“Then why are we arguing?” Stiles asked, trying to sound exasperated instead of delighted. 

Derek didn’t say anything.

Stiles stretched his leg out and nudged Derek’s hip with his foot, grinning. “You _like_ me, you want to _date_ me-”

“Oh my god.”

“So do you want to date me?” he pressed, getting up on his knees. “Because there are definite benefits.” 

Derek cocked his head, his shoulders relaxing. “Oh, yeah?”

“Uh-huh.” He straddled his hips and dropped a light, testing kiss on his mouth. “Lots.”

Derek licked his lips and huffed when Stiles twisted his hips. “Okay.” He nipped Stiles’s chin. “But let’s move to your bed.”

Stiles laughed. “What, the desk and the floor aren’t good enough for you now?” He gasped when Derek slid his hand down between them.

“Bed’s more comfortable,” he replied. His teeth grazed Stiles’s jaw, sharp and longer than normal.

“Okay,” he breathed, “but I don’t know if I can walk.”

Derek snorted and stood up, putting his hands under Stiles’s thighs to hold him up.

“Sap,” he teased, then squawked indignantly when Derek flung him on the bed. 

 

 

“We’re going to be stuck together,” Stiles said mournfully, running his fingers through Derek’s hair. “Drying sweat is gross.”

Derek mumbled unintelligibly and rubbed his cheek against Stiles’s chest, making him smile. 

“Aren’t you hungry?” he asked a few minutes later. 

“Aren’t you tired?” Derek mocked. He yawned and sat up, making Stiles wheeze as he seated himself on his stomach. He just smirked.

“No, I’m not tired. I’m hungry and I’m getting crushed to death.” He stretched his arms over his head. “Though if there was a good way to go, this would be it.” He put his hands on Derek’s thighs and rubbed, grinning when he shivered. He slid his palms higher, up his sides and grinning when he twitched, ticklish. “What’s this?” he asked, distracted when he found a long, thin white mark between his ribs. He slid his fingers over it again and frowned. “Is that a scar?” he asked, trying to sit up but failing—Derek was still sitting on him. There were two, about three inches apart, raised slightly and shades lighter than his skin.

He nodded, catching his hand. “There’s some on the other side, too.” He moved his fingers to the right side of his torso, against an identical pair of scars.

“What did that?” he asked. “I’ve never seen much of anything scar you guys.” He stroked his fingers over the scars again, fascinated. Stiles was covered in them, of course, but as far as he’d known, none of the ’wolves but Cora had any scars, and hers was a messy blotch caused by melted silver. These were near-surgical.

“It’s from when the OWH had me,” Derek said uncomfortably, looking away.

Stiles snatched his hands away. “What? When? I don’t remember that.”

Derek cleared his throat. “You were four at the time, so you wouldn’t, I guess. They had me for about three months. Those are from the wires they used to run electricity through me.”

“They—three _months?_ ” Stiles managed to sit up this time, wiggling out from under him. “You were eight? Wow.” He reached out to trace the scar again. He frowned thoughtfully. “I was four…That’s the year my mom died…”

Derek flinched, tensing up all over.

Stiles removed his hand again. “What?”

“I—forgot that was the same year,” he mumbled. “Sorry.”

Stiles shook his head. He barely remembered his mom, but Derek clearly hadn’t forgotten his time in captivity. “Let’s get something to eat, I’m starving.” He rolled off the bed and sifted through the clothes on the floor until he found his boxers. Then he found Derek’s and flicked them at him. “Cover up or I’m never gonna be able to cook.”

“Cook?” he repeated warily.

“By which I mean I’m going to microwave some Hot Pockets.” He opened the mini fridge under his desk. “Your options are pepperoni or steak and cheddar. And there’s no garlic crust because it’s disgusting, so if you want that, you can just leave.” When he didn’t respond, Stiles looked up. “Is something wrong?”

Derek shook his head. “Nothing. Pepperoni.”

“Heathen.” He laughed and grabbed two boxes—one of each—and tore them open. “Prepare to be amazed,” he said while he arranged Derek’s pepperoni onto a paper plate.

“By what?” He pulled his boxers on and reclined against the bed, lifting his brows. 

“By my microwaving skills! I can fully cook these on the first try.”

Derek’s eyes narrowed. “You can’t.”

Stiles grinned as he put the first plate in the microwave.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. I guess that last chapter was a surprise. It is taking _every ounce of will power I possess_ not to just explain everything oh my god. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy this chapter!

Heather crouched in the middle of her cell, teeth bared beneath her furless muzzle. She was shifted, sort of, but she didn’t have much fur, and she wasn’t shaped like a wolf; her spine was knobby and curved, too elongated for a wolf. 

“We’ve stopped trying serums on them for the moment,” Peter said. “We’ve shifted our focus to the chemicals we found in Ennis’s blood, and that vampire, who we haven’t been able to identify. I believe that we may be able to create a cure with it.” 

Stiles nodded. “Good.”

“It may take time, but we’ll get them back.” Peter patted his shoulder and walked away. 

Stiles rubbed his face and looked at Derek. “Thanks.” He struggled not to laugh, because Derek was trying so hard to be supportive, but he looked so _jealous_. It was interesting to be on the receiving end of that. “Chill,” he said, deciding to put him out of his misery. “You know Heather and I are friends.”

Derek frowned. “I do know that. I just…also know…” He looked at the window, at Heather, who was chewing on her back leg. 

Stiles blinked, realizing what he was implying. “You aren’t a _placeholder_ because Heather isn’t available, oh my god. You’ve known me my whole life, you ass. Do you think I would do something like that? Jesus, Derek.” He suddenly wanted to be having this conversation somewhere—anywhere—else. 

“Sorry,” Derek mumbled. He shook his head. “Sorry, I didn’t—mean to say that you would. I just thought maybe you were upset about Heather and that I was convenient.” He lifted his hands. 

Stiles sighed, because he got it, really. It was _weird_ , going from whatever they’d been before to sort-of-dating and having spectacular sex every free moment they had.

“Kira and Scott are going to the movies later,” Stiles said slowly. He held the door open to let Derek out as they left Peter’s lab.

“So…”

“So we can go with,” he said, waving at Lydia while they crossed her lab. “Like a real-world date. How,” he said seriously when Derek looked incredulous, “are we supposed to know we like each other if we don’t sit through terrible movies or awkward dinners together?” He pointed sharply when Derek’s brows furrowed. “You want a relationship, not just sex, well, we should do things besides sex.” They already had, sort of; they’d curled up together on Stiles’s couch and watched a movie…which had ended with Derek blowing him on the couch. 

They probably needed fresh air, see how this…thing they were trying looked in the light of day, and they probably should let their friends know before someone found out on accident and had a heart attack.

“Okay.”

“Good. And since I invited you, I’ll be buying the movie tickets and the snacks, so don’t argue,” he said when Derek opened his mouth to do just that. He kissed him quickly and stepped back, smirking. “Come on, if we hurry, we can pretend we accidentally got the time wrong for Laura’s sparring session.”

Derek laughed. “Okay.” 

 

“Where have you two been?” Laura demanded. “You were supposed to be here at eight!”

“Really?” Stiles’s eyes widened. “I thought you said ten. We went to visit Heather,” he added when Laura’s expression didn’t waver. 

“Oh.” She blinked, her nostrils twitching. “You were visiting Heather…together?”

Erica looked up from where she was tying her shoes. “Really?”

Stiles glanced at Scott, who was standing by the wall, watching almost eagerly. “Why? Yeah.”

Cora snorted. “Is the lab still intact? I don’t see any blood.”

“The lab is _fine_.” Stiles rolled his eyes. 

Derek shuffled his feet, not-so-discreetly putting distance between himself and Laura; Stiles bit back a groan. He was so _obvious_.

Laura’s eyes narrowed. “Where were you yesterday? Did you guys fight? We didn’t see you for the rest of the n-” She stopped abruptly. “Oh, god.”

“No.” Stiles looked at Derek for help, but he was too busy blushing and staring at the floor. 

“Did you two—?” Laura leaned in and pressed her face near Derek’s neck, sniffing loudly, her eyes going wide. 

“Seriously?” Erica asked, leaping to her feet. “Come here.” She jumped on Derek’s back before he could duck away, sniffing at him.

Stiles snorted, then flinched when he felt someone smelling _him_. “Dude!” he protested, swatting at Scott’s head. “Not cool!”

“Ha!” Scott laughed. “I knew it, I knew you would-” he stopped crowing when he noticed Derek and Stiles staring at him. 

“What do you mean you _knew_? How could you know if we didn’t know?”

Erica dropped off of Derek’s back. “Please, we all knew it was going to end in sex or murder, with all that fighting.” She threw her arm around Derek’s neck. “How was it?”

Scott threw up his hands. “No, no, I don’t want details!”

“I need to talk to you both,” Laura said. Her tone silenced the rest of them, had them all looking at her. 

“Are we in trouble?” Stiles asked, half-laughing. “We were only late for one sparring session, Laura, it’s not-”

“This has nothing to do with that. It’s important, come on. Scott, Erica, Cora, please go to the armory. I’ll meet you there in twenty minutes. If I don’t, practice without me.”

Scott glanced at Stiles apprehensively, but since he didn’t really know what it was about, either, he just shrugged. 

Laura took them to an empty classroom and gestured for them to go in before she closed the door behind her. 

Stiles looked at Derek; he appeared as puzzled as Stiles was. He sighed and flopped into a desk, kicking his legs up over it.

Derek rolled his eyes. “How many times did you get scolded for doing that?” he demanded. “And you still haven’t learned.” He sat at the desk beside him. 

“I did my time, Hale.”

Laura shook her head. “Okay, so—apparently Scott and Erica have seen this coming, but I didn’t _actually_ think…” She ran her hand over her face.

“Laura?” Derek prompted when she was quiet for a few minutes. 

She dropped her hand and managed a smile. “I’m happy for you guys, really, but the thing is, there could be…repercussions.” 

Stiles frowned. “For what? We haven’t done anything wrong.” 

“Our team is already questionable because three of us are related and _five_ of us are in the same pack. When you add-”

“Jessa’s on the same team as her siblings,” Stiles felt compelled to point out. “Why is it any different for vampires?”

“They’re not really siblings,” Derek said.

“That’s racist,” Stiles shot back. “They have the same vampire parent.”

“Sire,” Laura said tiredly. “They call that a sire.”

“But it’s their mother.” 

Laura waved her hands. “Stop, just. Stop. The point is, it’s already questionable, and when you add a romantic relationship into the mix, even more problems can arise.” She held up her hand before they could say anything. “We all work really well together. We get the job done, despite minor incidents recently. You’re both assets, and I love you both.” She sighed. “So that means I’m going to trust you. The _second_ this-” she waved at the space between them- “in any way affects your performance, I’ll have one of you transferred to another team. The _second_ , I mean it.” 

“I believe you,” Stiles said, tapping his fingers on the desk. “We’ll be good, I promise. Well, mostly. When we’re working.” He grinned over at Derek, who looked mortified.

“Good.” She took a deep breath and relaxed her shoulders. “Now, I think it goes without saying that if you hurt my baby brother, I’ll rip out your intestines and you’ll be wearing them as a bowtie to your funeral, correct?”

“Obviously.”

“And, Derek, hurt my Stiles, and I’ll beat you to death with your own spine.”

He ducked his head and smiled. “Got it.”

“Now I have to go tell Mom. Go get some shooting practice,” she added while they were sputtering at her. 

“Does that mean I have to tell my dad?” Stiles wondered after she’d left. He hadn’t moved yet, limp with horror. “We all live too close together,” he muttered, scowling. He tried to swing his legs down, only to discover he was wedged in too tightly to get out.

“Let’s go shoot stuff,” Derek said, standing up. He held his hands out to pull Stiles free of the desk he was apparently too big for now.

The legs banged and scraped until Stiles was extracted, wheezing and leaning on Derek’s arm. “Why’d you let me do that?” he complained, rubbing his hip.

“You told me to stop telling you what to do,” he replied dryly. 

“Oh, now you listen to me.” He poked the back of his hand, smiling when he waggled his fingers and wrapped their hands together. “Armory, right. Let’s hope Scott doesn’t get distracted and get us kicked out.” 

 

Target practice was almost fun, with Erica and Scott grinning triumphantly, and then getting into a friendly competition with Derek over who could hit dead center the most. The only damper was Cora; she didn’t seem as pleased about Derek and Stiles as the rest of them. The entire hour, in fact, Stiles felt her either staring at him or Derek, or both of them, when they’d finished their clips. 

“Okay, go, you’re done. I have a class coming,” Stacy called. “They need the space.”

“Okay!” Scott replied cheerfully. He flung an arm over Stiles’s shoulders, making him stumble. “You two have to come out with us tonight, okay?”

Stiles laughed. “I was planning on asking if we could tag along,” he said.

“Good! I’m going to ask Isaac to come, too,” he said, hanging his earmuffs on the wall.

Stiles didn’t see why Isaac would want to come out with two couples, but maybe he wouldn’t feel as awkward as Stiles would. “Okay.”

“He’s working, come on. You should meet the woman we rescued, too, by the way,” Scott said. “You never checked in.”

Erica laughed. “He was busy.”

“Yes, I was.” He grinned over her shoulder at Derek where he was putting his things away. “Do you want to come with?”

“No, I’m going to help clean up.” His eyes flicked toward Cora. 

“Ah. Okay.” 

Erica snorted. “And I’m going to see if Boyd wants to have a movie date in my room later tonight, because going out would delay the inevitable mid-movie sex.” She waved her fingers and left. 

“We can go get lunch after we talk to Isaac,” Scott suggested. “You definitely have to meet Ally before she leaves the infirmary.”

“Why?” he asked, but Scott just shook his head, grinning mischievously. Stiles didn’t bother asking again; whatever he was up to, it wouldn’t stay secret long. 

 

It turned out that Isaac and Ally Anderson knew each other from their runaway days. Apparently, Ally had taught Isaac how to take care of himself on the streets—which Stiles took to mean _defend_ himself—when he was sixteen. It also turned out that Isaac was adorably, blatantly in love with her, despite how long it’d been since they’d seen each other. Isaac watched her with big puppy dog eyes through their introductions. 

“I’m just glad you’re alright,” Ally said to Isaac with a quick, dimpled smile. “Once the Pack took me in, I didn’t leave much, but I worried about you.” She tucked her hair behind her ear and turned to Stiles. “And I hear you helped carry me out of there, so thank you.” She smiled and held her hand out.

“No problem.” He grinned back and shook her hand. “Are you gonna stick around awhile or are you heading back to Alpha Ito?”

Beside her, Isaac looked at his clipboard, trying to seem disinterested. 

“I think I’m sticking around here—she wants me to help out around here and it’d be silly to get transportation all the way here, then back…there.” She smiled awkwardly. 

Isaac looked up hopefully, but still couldn’t seem to make words.

“Right. We wanted to invite you guys to come see a movie and get some dinner with us tonight,” Scott said. “Kira’s coming, and Derek. It’ll be fun.”

Ally grimaced. “Oh, I don’t know. You’re going…out?”

“Yeah, but we won’t have any trouble.” _Probably._ “It’ll be fun.” Stiles looked at Isaac, brows raised. 

“Uh, sure. Yeah. Ally?” he asked, smiling. 

“Okay, I guess…if we go in a group it shouldn’t be a problem.” She smiled back and made his cheeks flush pink. 

“Perfect. We’ll meet you guys by the desk at six,” Stiles said.

“Okay. Thanks for the invite,” Ally said. “I appreciate it.”

“Sure!” Scott chirped. “It’ll be fun!”

 

Derek met them as they were leaving the infirmary.

Stiles asked, wincing, “How’s Cora?”

Scott frowned. “Was she mad?”

“No, she just…” Derek’s gaze flicked away and back. “She just had some concerns, that’s all.” 

“Right. I’m gonna go eat and collect my winnings now.” Scott laughed and ran before they could coherently demand answers. 

“You were taking bets on him and Kira,” Derek pointed out. 

“Yeah, because they were _obviously_ circling each other. _Obviously_.” Stiles gestured between himself and Derek. “How’d he have time to take bets?”

Derek just shrugged, but he definitely looked shifty. “Let’s go have lunch in my room,” he said. 

“What kind of lunch?” Stiles asked. He was willing to be distracted. 

Derek leaned in and said, “Sandwiches,” against Stiles’s mouth, which almost made him laugh until he bit his bottom lip and tugged before he stepped back. He smirked. “And I’m sure we can find something else to do, too.” 

Stiles caught his arm and pulled him back for a real kiss that he ended with a quick, sharp bite to Derek’s mouth. “Whatever you say,” he said, grinning when he saw Derek blushing. 

Derek’s room was neater than Stiles’s, which wasn’t surprising in the least. He had more space than Stiles, but that was mostly because he had less…stuff in general, it seemed, and all of it was organized. 

Stiles crossed the room and sat on the edge of Derek’s bed, which was made, the blanket tucked and folded just so. He laughed, running his hands over the comforter. “Do you make your bed every morning?”

Derek shook his head. “Only when we leave.” He hadn’t stepped in any further than the door, watching while Stiles made himself comfortable. 

Stiles leaned back on his elbows. “Just gonna stand there? I thought you were going to make us lunch.”

Derek growled, “In a minute,” and stalked across the room. 

“I was wondering if you’d get to that,” he laughed, gasping when Derek climbed into his lap. Lunch could wait. 

 

Scott and Kira were already at the desk when Stiles arrived, his hair still dripping from his quick shower. “Sorry,” he said. “I thought I had time.”

Scott wrinkled his nose. “Sure.”

“What? I’m clean! Dude, my hair is still _wet_ , I totally showered.”

“Uh-huh.” 

Derek arrived next, also with wet hair, and Kira burst into giggles. “You guys look nice,” she said when he frowned at her. “Thanks for coming with. I always feel safer in a group.” 

“No problem. We understand,” Stiles added with a quick smile. 

Ally and Isaac arrived together; Ally had her hair down in soft waves, partially obscuring her face, and she was wearing a grey hoodie and jeans. 

Stiles frowned; he couldn’t put his finger on why, exactly—they were all dressed in muted tones out of habit—but he felt like she was actively hiding from something. He shook his head slightly. Of course she was hiding; they all were, really. 

Derek’s fingertips brushed the back of his hand, making him smile and twist his wrist to lace their fingers together. 

“Does anyone know what movie we should see?” Scott asked as they headed out. “I haven’t checked what’s playing.”

“Ally mentioned something called ‘ _Predictions of Nature_ ’ earlier,” Isaac said. “We could see that.”

“That’s alright,” Ally said quickly. “I’d just remembered seeing a trailer while I was undercover, that’s all.”

“We can see that one. We don’t have cable, so the only time we see anything current is when Danny broadcasts the news.” 

“That’s how it is at our place, too,” she said. 

Discussion of the similarities and differences of the two factions carried them to the restaurant, where they started talking about, well, current events.

“Talia’s doing another interview, too,” Scott said, moving aside to pull Kira’s chair out for her.

Stiles was amused when Isaac mimicked him, so he did Derek’s, which made him roll his eyes. 

“Satomi thought it would be best if someone else made an appearance, someone younger, to inspire confidence in people.” Ally shrugged. “She has a strategy, I’m sure, but she’s always played it close to the vest.” 

“Safer that way,” Isaac said with a quiet sigh. 

Stiles definitely agreed.

“Why,” Derek began when their food came and Stiles stole a fry from his plate, “did you order onion rings?”

“Because I have to test the strength of your resolve. Also, I got a mint chocolate chip shake.” He grinned and waggled the cup in Derek’s direction. 

“I meant why’d you get onion rings if you’re going to _eat my fries?_ ”

Stiles pouted. “’Cause I can’t reach Scott’s plate. Take some of mine,” he offered, tilting his plate.

Derek sighed and took a ring. “You better not talk through the movie.”

“I make no promises.”

He narrowed his eyes, but the waiter returned to refill their drinks, distracting him. 

Since he had no one to impress—Derek, Scott, Kira, _and_ Isaac had made a buffer between him and Ally—and since he was so comfortable with most of this group, Stiles saw no particular reason to try _too_ hard to keep his muttered comments to himself. They all knew how he was before they agreed to come.

“It’s physically impossible to stay underwater that long,” he hissed, plucking at Derek’s sleeve. “You can’t just-” he choked on the popcorn Derek shoved into his mouth.

“Hush,” he said, grabbing Stiles’s chin and turning him back toward the screen. He kissed his cheek. “ _Watch_ the movie.”

Stiles tried to be insulted, but he couldn’t quite hide his smile. 

 

They brought up the rear on the long, twisty walk home, hands clasped together. 

“So how was that?” Stiles asked, swinging their hands. “Think you can handle that more than once?”

Derek hummed, tilting his head side-to-side thoughtfully. “Maybe. If you stop talking during movies.”

“That’s a deal breaker, pal.” He squeezed his hand hard. “Seriously, though, the best part of this is we already find each other annoying.”

“That is true.”

Stiles stuck his tongue out. “That means we’ve got no false expectations, asshole.” 

He snorted. “Such as…?”

“Such as, I don’t _expect_ you to share your food graciously or talk when there’s a problem and you know I steal food and talk through movies.” He grinned, but Derek didn’t return it. “What?” His heart skipped a beat, annoying him. “What’s wrong?”

He shrugged, but when Stiles kept pressing, he said, “Cora, I guess.”

“Cora…okay…What about Cora?”

He shrugged again. “She doesn’t think this is a good idea.”

“That’s troubling and vague,” he said slowly. “What, exactly, is a bad idea?”

Derek met his gaze for a long moment and let out a soft breath. “Doesn’t matter. _I_ think it’s a good idea.” He leaned in and kissed him; they stopped walking, distracted.

“Yeah,” Stiles breathed. “Yeah, definitely a good idea.” He pressed his hands into the back of Derek’s jacket, clenching in the leather.

“Are you guys coming, or are you staying here all night?” Isaac called.

Stiles leered at him. “Yeah, we’ll be com-”

“Don’t,” Derek said, covering his mouth. 

Stiles slid his hands down and squeezed, nipping at Derek’s palm. “No?”

Derek muffled a laugh against his shoulder. “That’s not funny.”

“Very serious business,” Stiles agreed, pressing a kiss to the edge of his jaw.

“Guys, come on!” Scott called. “We do _actually_ have to get home eventually.”

Stiles sighed and took a step back. “Fine.” He winked at Derek. “We’ll finish that later.” 

They left Ally, Isaac, Scott, and Kira near the desk saying goodnight and generally being polite while Stiles dragged Derek back to his room.

“You’re so pushy,” Derek mumbled.

Stiles was currently pulling down his zipper with his teeth, which he thought was a weird moment for Derek to say that. “Do you object? Tell me now, and I can finish up on my own.”

Derek rolled his eyes and pushed his jeans down himself.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Stiles nipped his thigh, snickering when he jumped. “Why do you have such boring underwear, grandpa?”

“Why do you care?” Derek demanded. 

Stiles snickered and pulled them down, licking his lips. “Guess I don’t.” 

They were only just getting started when someone started pounding on the door, making Derek jump and accidentally gag Stiles, who fell back and, amid coughs, started laughing so hard he couldn’t get to his feet. 

“Stop whatever it is you’re doing and get to Dad’s office!” Laura called. “He needs to tell us about our next mission. Five minutes!”

Derek swore under his breath and let his head thump back against the wall. “Fine!” he called back when Laura didn’t leave. 

Stiles wiped his face. “I’m just gonna go get some water,” he rasped, and laughed again. 

“Sorry!” Derek gasped, straightening up. “Sorry. Are you alright?”

“Yeah.” He grabbed a cup and filled it. “Better get dressed before Laura comes back.” He grinned wickedly. “Unless you wanna try to-”

“Nope, no, hearing my sister yelling through the door definitely took care of any desire I had to-” He shook his head. “Just…no.”

Stiles shrugged and went to the bathroom for some mouthwash. 

 

Ian looked surprised when Stiles and Derek entered his office together, but he didn’t comment. “We’ve located another missing alpha, Kali Malik, in Nevada. This is a rescue mission,” he said firmly, “but in light of recent events, you’ll be going in with assault weapons and wolfsbane tranquilizers. You’re advised to go in quiet, but use any means necessary to get her out. And try to get her out alive?” He held his hands up. “Ennis Fletcher wasn’t your fault, but be advised that Kali Malik may well be in the same condition.”

Laura sighed, running a hand down her face. “Great.”

“If you think you’ll need help, Jessa’s team is free as of three hours ago.” He frowned a little, looking concerned. 

She shook her head. “We can handle it. Who’s our driver?”

Ian sighed. “I’m not sure yet. Alexa’s with Ry’s team, Jordan is helping with Alexander’s team, and Diane is with Jen’s team.” 

“So—someone we haven’t worked with yet?” Cora asked, twisting her fingers.

“Probably. Roy’s available, and so is Marisol, for sure. I’ll tell you who it’ll be by tomorrow morning. You don’t leave until afternoon tomorrow anyway.” 

“Alright,” Laura sighed. “For now, we should get ready.”

“Correct. There’s time, though.” Ian glanced at Stiles, frowning slightly, before sighing and tapping his fingers. “That’s all. I’ll let you know who your driver is when I figure it out myself.” 

Cora jumped up. “Cool. I’m going to get a book or something,” she mumbled, fleeing the office.

Erica stretched her legs in front of her before she stood. “I’m going to visit Boyd and Danny in the tech lab, if anyone would care to join me.”

“I will,” Stiles said quickly. He didn’t want to give Ian a chance to decide he should talk to them about whatever was putting that somewhat troubled look on his face. 

“I have to help get our stuff together,” Laura said. “I _know_ it’s someone’s job,” she snapped before Ian could say anything. “I just want to help.”

“You’re just taking work time from someone else,” he said patiently. “Be considerate.” 

Stiles got up to follow Erica while Laura was grumbling; Scott and Derek did the same pretty quickly.

“Why’re we going to the lab?” Stiles asked as they left. 

“Because Boyd works there and I want to visit him,” Erica said, flicking his ear. “Do we need a reason?”

“I guess not.” He tugged the end of her ponytail in retaliation. 

“I hope we don’t have to kill Kali Malik,” Scott said quietly. “I’m getting tired of people going out for rescues and coming back with bodies.”

“Same,” Stiles mumbled. “We’re going with tranqs, we should be fine.”

“Still. What if the tranqs have no effect on her? Do you think they would have worked on Ennis?”

Stiles rolled his shoulders. “I dunno. We didn’t have any then, so it doesn’t matter.” He flinched a little when a hand touched his; he relaxed when Derek twined their fingers together.

“Right,” Scott said quietly. 

Danny, Boyd, and Foster were all gathered around Danny’s workstation, watching the biggest screen.

“What’s going on?” Stiles asked, leaning between Danny and Foster’s chairs to see. 

“We’re watching the news,” Danny replied, only turning slightly. “Do you remember the Burke pack?”

Everyone collectively cringed; the Burke pack had been a large family pack that hadn’t been living in a bunker—risky, but not unheard of—and had been at the center of plenty of press coverage. Several of their adult members had even been lawyers, actively fighting for supernatural rights. 

One day, someone burned their house to the ground, with every pack member inside, save for one. The person responsible had never been caught, and the single remaining member, Brielle Banner, had slowly but surely been making everything as difficult for anti-supernaturalists as possible for a lone werewolf. 

“Brielle was attending a protest,” Foster said quietly. “One of the ones outside the White House, you know, demanding justice for the supernaturals the OWH has hurt.” She sighed. “And a man on the other side was telling a news station—Humans of America, of course—about how they’re animals and giving werewolves the right to marry or vote or go to school was the same as giving dogs those rights and…”

“And?” Stiles prompted, because he was getting pissed, too.

“And Brielle Banner knocked him the fuck out on national television,” Danny said, surprising everyone. “Then someone shot her arm and the camera jerked and she was gone. Police are, as usual, looking for her.”

“They’ve been playing the clip every few minutes on Prime News,” Boyd said, gesturing at the screen.

Stiles watched; the anchor clearly found the clip funny, her lips twitching slightly as it played again.

Brielle was visible in the background through the interview, if you knew to look for her; her eyes were gleaming wet-red as she listened to the toothy, clean-shaven man talk confidently about how vampires were parasites and werewolves were animals, all of them abominations and crimes against nature, before she lunged.

“I hope she’s okay,” Stiles said. “That guy deserved it.”

“The bullet hit the outside of her arm; as long as she cleans it of wolfsbane, she should be okay,” Scott replied. 

They all watched, transfixed, as Prime News switched to the protests, the camera panning over various religious signs, signs with _Monsters don’t belong in our schools!_ scrawled in bold red on them, before settling on their field reporter, who looked nauseated. 

Stiles grabbed Derek’s hand again, squeezing firmly. Those signs, Brielle Banner’s pack, the man she’d knocked out—those were just reminders, really, a refresher. Those things were why they were here, why they kept doing what needed doing. 

Derek looked back at him, eyes glowing and fierce, and nodded.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I'm going to be posting on **Tuesdays and Saturdays** from now on because of reasons. Anyway, after this, there are only five chapters left!! *confetti* I hope you enjoy!! Let me know what you think!

Marisol was chosen to be their driver. She was nice, and she got along well with Cora, which was good since she insisted on sitting up front. Laura and Erica talked strategy for the first two hours of the trip, while Scott alternately napped and forced food onto everyone. Stiles let Derek explore the scars on his arm, watching him trace each one with the tips of his fingers. 

“Where’d you get this one?” he asked, frowning as he found a long, thin one on the outside of his upper arm.

“Two years ago, New Mexico. Remember?” He shrugged. “Asshole got me with a knife.” 

“Oh, yeah, that was—right.” He shook his head. “Right.”

“What?”

“I just forgot.” He slid his fingers lower, to another scar, ragged and slightly brown. “This is a burn, right? From Arizona?”

“Yep.” He closed his eyes and leaned his head back.

“Want me to stop?”

“Nope. This is fine. Feels nice,” he added, smiling.

“Better settle in,” Marisol called back. “There’s a lot of traffic coming up.”

Stiles grumbled and crossed his ankles. “Awesome.”

Laura snorted. “What’s the traffic about? It’s Thursday.” 

“Early start to the weekend maybe?” Marisol suggested. “I don’t know.”

Derek’s little exploration continued down Stiles’s wrist to his fingers, covered in short, thin scars from his days of knife training. It was distracting, the way he treated each one with extreme care, the tip of his finger ghosting along the lines. 

Ten minutes must have past when Marisol said in a suddenly tense voice, “Cora, why don’t you go sit in the back? I can navigate on my own for a bit.” She punched the button to turn on the radio, filling the van with an auto shop jingle. 

“What’s going on?” Laura asked. 

Stiles opened his eyes, weirdly groggy despite never having fallen asleep. 

Cora said, “There’s a protest in the field up ahead. Right?”

“It’s not a protest,” Marisol said tersely. “But it is a large gathering of humans.”

“Why? What’re they doing in a field beside the highway?” Laura demanded. 

Stiles lifted his head, glancing warily at Scott, who only shrugged. 

Cora rolled her window down. “Gross. It smells like burned hair…”

Everyone surged forward at once when they realized what that could mean, squeezing between the two front seats and fighting for a view. Stiles pressed between Scott and Erica’s shoulders but he couldn’t see anything around Laura. 

“Everyone get back in your seats!” Marisol ordered. “We _cannot_ get pulled over. Cora, seriously, roll up that window. There’s no reason for you to see this. There’s nothing you can do.”

Cora huffed and rolled the window up.

Stiles looked at Derek over his shoulder, but he hadn’t stayed long; he was back in his seat with his eyes shut. 

“In fact, Cora, go sit in the back. With that crowd, we’re more likely to get pulled over. Stiles, get up here.”

“Sure.” He climbed over Scott’s legs and stood aside so Cora could pass. He could see the crowd once he was seated and buckled in. “Oh, man.” 

They were burning something under a mounted banner. ‘ _Brielle should burn like her litter!’_ it read. 

Brielle’s children and her husband had been among those who died in the fire, so the sign was especially cruel.

“I’m sick of this,” Stiles breathed. “That can’t be legal, burning something so close to the highway.” Not to mention fucked up, but the legalities were their best bet of getting it stopped.

Marisol snorted. “The police aren’t going to do anything. The ones that _do_ care are all tied up keeping people from hurting anyone. The rest are probably cheering these guys on.”

Laura was whispering to Cora in the back, something comforting probably, as they listened to what Stiles couldn’t hear: whatever the crowd was chanting. 

Stiles drummed his fingers against his thigh as they crept past the crowd, eyes narrowed. He hated that he couldn’t do anything about it. His friends and family shouldn’t have to hear them calling for the “mutts” to be “put down”. He curled his hands into fists and counted in his head until he was calmer.

“Bastards,” Marisol muttered. “And the jam is because everyone wants to slow down and _look_.”

“Sick.” Stiles couldn’t pry his jaw open to say more than that. 

“If only that many people cared enough to put a stop to it.”

The traffic jam lasted two more _hours_ , with part of that spent right next to the offending signage and humans. Not a single person was doing anything to stop it. 

Stiles could grudgingly admit to himself that since they weren’t physically hurting anyone, risking injury by disturbing them wasn’t worth it. He wished he could risk it anyway, but he’d be exposing his team and, ultimately, the Pack at large to danger. He’d be out so fast, he wouldn’t get a chance to say goodbye to anyone. 

He shifted in his seat when they finally started going the speed limit. “I’m going back again,” he mumbled. 

“Yeah. Front seat’s free,” Marisol called back.

Stiles stepped over Erica, who’d fallen asleep on the floor, and sat beside Derek again.

He didn’t turn his head. “Do you ever wish supernaturals were still a secret from humans?” he asked.

“No, not really.” Stiles swallowed. “Do you?”

Derek sighed deeply. “Sometimes.” He looked at him. “Seems like less people would die or get hurt that way.”

“I guess.” Stiles thought people would probably still be getting hurt, just with less press coverage about it.

“I think I’m going to sleep.”

Stiles patted his leg. “Put your head here.” When he looked wary, he rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to shave your head or anything, would you just relax?”

Derek huffed and stretched out. It took a few minutes for him to actually relax, but once he did, Stiles couldn’t help himself; he started stroking his hair. Three minutes in, he was knocked out. 

“Nice,” Scott whispered, flashing a thumbs-up that Stiles wasn’t sure he understood.

He snorted and rolled his eyes anyway. Derek’s hair was soft, and since he was trying to get some sleep, Stiles didn’t want to be bouncing his leg or fidgeting, so stroking his hair gave him something to do with his hands. 

 

They made it in good time, just before dawn. Marisol got them as close as she safely could. They got their gear on while she surveyed the building. 

“Can everyone hear me?” Danny asked when they turned their comms on. “Cams on, please.”

Stiles twisted his on and reached around Scott’s shoulder to turn his on for him, too, while he packed his first aid bag. 

“Laura, Derek, cams,” Danny prompted after a minute.

“Getting to it,” Laura mumbled. 

Stiles reached back and turned Derek’s on, earning a quick, thankful smile. 

“There’s a lot of commotion inside,” Marisol said as Stiles was pulling the strap of his gun over his shoulders. 

Scott and Cora had the tranquilizer guns since they had the extra room. 

“What kind of commotion?” Laura asked, knotting her hair back and strapping her vest.

“They aren’t protecting the doors, they’re all wearing gear and running out of the lobby—you’ll have no trouble getting in, but getting out with your target might be a struggle.” 

Laura blew out a breath. “Nothing to do but go,” she said. “Any clues about what they’re _doing_?”

“Panicking,” Marisol said firmly. 

“Great.”

They filed out of the van and lined up in front of Laura. “Since they’re panicked,” she began with a sigh, “it should be easy to blend, especially if you have any trouble. Cora, Scott, split up, so we don’t end up with both tranq guns in one hall and Kali in another.”

“Okay.” Scott rested his hand on the butt of his gun. 

“Let’s go, then.” She led the way with everyone falling in step behind her. 

Stiles’s heart started to pound with adrenaline as they neared the building; he pulled his gun around so he could hold it steady. 

Laura and Scott pulled the doors open so the rest could rush in, prepared to fire, but there was no one in the room. It was noisy though—people were shouting and guns were going off in the distance. 

“They sent out a building-wide email,” Danny said. “The place is crawling with hunters. A few of their “subjects” got loose from their cells.”

“Great,” Cora muttered. 

Laura shook her head. “Try to blend,” she reminded them. “Where are they, Danny?”

“It looks like they keep subjects in the basement, but I don’t know where they are now,” he replied. “They could be anywhere.” 

“We’ll have to split up.” Laura kicked the door. “Shit.”

“Three floors and a basement,” Danny provided.

“I can take this floor,” Stiles said. “I’m human, so I’ll blend the best,” he added quickly. “That gives everyone a chance to look everywhere else.” 

Derek’s jaw clenched, but Laura agreed, so he didn’t argue. “Go now,” she added, giving Stiles a little nudge. 

He waved jauntily and followed the noise down the hall. He came across two hunters almost immediately, slumped against the wall tending to big, bloody wounds.

“What the hell man,” one of them panted. “Ramirez is going to have your _ass_. Get in there.” They glared at him expectantly. 

“Right.” Stiles stepped around them and past a set of double doors, where the shooting was coming from.

The hunters were dressed in riot gear, fending off a large, mutated vampire that was healing too quickly for their weapons to make a difference. Stiles kept his distance, his back to the wall, as he inched around the group. 

The vampire swiped at their riot shields, his long, twisted claws glancing off the polycarbonate. He snarled and jumped straight up, and managed to yank two of the hunters off balance and pull them back with him. The hunters screamed and fought, but he’d dug his claws through their gear and into the flesh of their throats. They were losing blood quickly, their struggles growing weak as the vampire paced with them hanging off his claws. 

“Heading up,” Laura said. “Stiles, you okay?”

He clicked his tongue softly to let her know he was, but couldn’t answer. Another round of shooting blocked out whatever else she said. 

The hunters screamed and tried to scramble away when the vampire lunged again, but he tore at their shields with his fangs this time, which pulled most of them off balance. When they were exposed, he fell on them to feed. They tried to fight, shooting and flailing, but he was fast and strong, and intent on feeding. 

Stiles pressed himself against the wall and crept around the carnage while the vampire was feeding, until he could get behind him. The question was whether he should kill the vampire or not, now that he wasn’t in his line of sight. The vampire hadn’t really paid Stiles any attention, but he was still a threat. 

Stiles sighed and slipped out of the second set of double doors, pushing up the bolt locks on both to _try_ to contain the vampire. As he turned, someone slammed into him from behind, knocking him to the floor. He thrust his elbow back, then his head, and rolled to his knees while his assailant was sputtering. 

The hunter tackled him again, grappling for his gun while they rolled over the floor. Stiles managed to grab and twist his left wrist, but he hit Stiles in the gut with the butt of his own gun. He got up as Stiles gagged, pulling Stiles’s gun with him.

Stiles turned and got up to his hands and knees before the sound of the gun cocking had him freezing. 

“Put your hands up!” the hunter ordered in a young, shaking voice. 

Stiles slowly straightened and put his arms up and out, away from his body. “I work here,” he said in a low, even voice. He had a sidearm and his knives, but he couldn’t get to them with the gun trained on the back of his head. 

“No you don’t!” the hunter shouted. “You—you aren’t even hurt or—why were you so late if you work here?”

“Ramirez had me stationed outside,” Stiles replied calmly. “Wanted me to make sure nothing got out.” He could hear the hunter panting, trying to make sense of his words. 

“Well you—you have to be lying. You should’ve come in when the alarm went off—why didn’t you?”

Sweat was beading on his face and neck, a combination of nerves and heat from all his gear. “Ramirez put me on the doors,” he repeated, inching one hand down.

“Stop lying—put your hands up!” he shrieked. 

Stiles lifted his arms again. “They’re up!” he snapped. “Look, let me show you, I swear, I work here.” His mouth dried when the muzzle of his own gun nudged the back of his head. 

“Ramirez is dead, so no one can back up your story. I’m just making sure we stay safe. No one will blame me,” he muttered to himself.

“Don’t—!” Stiles shut his eyes, breath catching, and choked out a cry when he heard a shot. When he didn’t die or feel anything, he gasped and opened his eyes. 

Derek was on the other end of the hall, white faced with his gun raised. 

The hunter was on the floor behind Stiles with a hole in his head, gun hanging limply from his hands. 

Stiles fell forward, bracing his hands on the floor to catch his breath. “Holy shit,” he panted. “Holy shit.” 

Derek approached and untangled his gun from the hunter’s body. “Laura would’ve gotten here first, but they ran into that vampire on the other side of those doors, so I ran around.”

“Thanks.” He wiped his face and let Derek help him to his feet. He took his gun back, feeling ridiculous that it had been taken away from him at all. “Did they find her on the second floor?”

Derek shook his head. “Scott and Laura are heading up to the third. They locked the vampire in that room.”

“Erica and Cora?”

“Checking the basement. We should finish this floor.”

Stiles nodded. “’Kay. Thanks,” he added again. He wiped the back of his hand over his mouth and gestured for Derek to lead on.

Danny asked, “Anyone injured?”

“Luckily, no.”

“Heading back up,” Laura said, sounding a little irked. 

“We don’t see anything in the basement,” Erica reported. “Well, nothing alive. They were doing some fucked up shit here. C’mon, Cora, no point in lingering.”

“Erica, can you step back?” Danny requested. “I thought I saw…yeah, there. Take that flash drive out and put it in your pocket. If you see any more, grab them.”

“Why?”

“Might have their research on them, or notes about whatever they’re doing to the prisoners. I want them.”

Derek gestured at Stiles to keep up and approached a door. “People on the other side,” he mumbled. “Ready?”

“Yes.” Stiles adjusted his grip and leaned forward on the balls of his feet. 

Derek kicked the door open; it slammed into the woman standing nearest the door, flinging her into the wall. There were a few seconds of ringing silence as they entered the room, before one of the women up front grabbed a knife from her thigh sheath and hurled it at Derek with extreme force. He jerked aside; Stiles shot her in the chest. 

The others flew into motion, then, their weapons rising. 

Stiles didn’t want to lose his gun again or accidentally shoot Derek; he let it rest between his shoulders and pulled out his knives. They were better for close combat anyway. 

A woman rammed her shoulder into his chest, slamming him into the doorframe. He used it to keep his balance and twisted his wrist, slicing into her forearm. He brought his other knife up and stabbed it into the side of her neck. He kicked her body into one of her comrades and stabbed him, too. Blood slickened his hands and the front of his vest; he stared down at the bodies at his feet for a moment, panting.

Derek yelped; Stiles’s head snapped up. He was fighting with three people at once and someone had cut open his arm. He was holding his own, but one man stepped back, taking aim at Derek’s head. 

Stiles ran and jumped on his back, then drew the sharp edge of his knife across his throat. They tumbled to the floor together. Someone kicked Stiles’s knife out of his hand. He whipped his hand out and grabbed the leg, stabbing the back of her knee with his remaining blade and making her scream. 

As she fell, he used her shoulders to drag himself to his feet; she managed to slam her fist under his chin, knocking him off balance. His back landed in a still-warm pool of blood. He braced himself and slammed his boot into her face, hard, before getting back up. He jerked away when he felt something against his back, but it was just Derek, fighting two hunters. Stiles pulled out his sidearm and turned, ranging himself next to Derek, and shot one of the two. 

By the time they made it across the room to the set of stairs they needed, all of the hunters were dead, Laura was yelling in their ears, and Danny was muttering instructions to Erica and Cora. 

“We found her!” she repeated. “We need help, too, there’s no way Scott can get a clear shot like this.” 

Stiles scooped his knives up from where he’d dropped them and wiped them on his pants. “We were held up. We’re on our way.” He looked up.

Derek was panting and staring at him, arms hanging at his sides, a knife in one hand, a gun in the other. 

“What?” He wiped at his cheek. “What, did I-?”

Derek grabbed his arm and yanked him forward so fast he stumbled, dragging him in close and kissing him hard. “God—fucking-” he growled as they kissed. 

“What’s happening?” Danny demanded. “Stiles, Derek, your cams went dark, what-”

Stiles jerked back with wide eyes, his chest heaving. “Nothing. We’re on our way to Laura,” he snapped, skirting around Derek and kicking open the door to the stairs. 

“Stiles-” Derek began.

“Don’t.”

Laura swore quietly. “She just killed three hunters. They don’t have the right weapons. They’re talking about retreating now.”

“They’re going to lock her in and come back with reinforcements,” Scott said. 

“Should we come up?” Erica asked.

“No,” Danny said quickly. “I want you to walk the whole lab so we have footage of everything they’ve done and are doing.”

“That’s fine,” Laura said when Erica was quiet a beat too long. 

There were bloody streaks in the stairwell, and an unconscious man wearing a lab coat at the top. He was breathing, but probably wouldn’t make it if he’d been unconscious this long already. Stiles didn’t feel much sympathy for him, which probably made him a bad person or something.

Derek murmured, “Someone’s outside that door,” when they reached the top.

Stiles pulled the door open carefully and discovered a woman in hunters’ clothes, her back to him as she surveyed the halls around her in quick, anxious sweeps. He leapt forward and clapped one hand over her mouth, using the other to drag his knife across her exposed throat before she had a chance to do more than jerk in surprise. He lowered her to the floor and beckoned to Derek. He could hear snarling to their left, so that was probably where they needed to go.

They found Laura around the corner, watching a closed room with her gun at the ready. “Hunters retreated. They couldn’t tranq her, but I think it was because none of them were quick enough to be bait without dying.” She looked up at Derek and smiled sweetly.

He sighed and pulled his gun over his shoulders. “If I die, Mom’s going to _kill_ you.”

Stiles took his gun, frowning deeply. “Where’s Scott?”

Laura grimaced. “Well, see, he managed to get in there while the hunters were subbing for chew toys. She hasn’t paid him any attention so far, but I _think_ that’s because she’s still playing with one of the hunters.”

“Scott’s _in there with her?_ ” Derek barked, shoving past Laura. 

Stiles followed, peering through the window over Derek’s shoulder. His hands convulsed around Derek’s gun when he saw Scott, wedged under a desk in a position that looked unnatural on his human shape. He was gripping his pathetic little tranq gun, eyes glowing as he looked over the carnage around him.

Kali was batting at the last living hunter, letting him get about fifteen feet away before pouncing and dragging him to the floor. Weirdly, while she _looked_ completely out of her mind—bloodied, her eyes red and absent—she wasn’t mutated or deformed like Ennis had been, or the vampire downstairs, or the vampire that had attacked Heather. 

“Going in,” Derek said, rolling his shoulders back. “Before she notices Scott.”

“Be careful,” Laura said, setting her hand on his arm.

Stiles kept watching Kali. Once Derek had gone in, he forced himself to look away, to look at Laura. “Why,” he began while the question was still forming in his mind, “did they bother making her look…normal?”

Laura frowned without looking away from the room. “What?”

He looked back when Derek swore through their comms. He had a bad feeling about all this, but he couldn’t put his finger on what. Which was basically par for the coarse lately, so he wasn’t sure why he was bothering. “She’s still as…feral,” he winced apologetically, but Laura waved him off, “as Ennis was, except now she looks like any other werewolf. Like herself.”

Derek leapt over two desks and across a table, leading Kali on a merry chase and shouting at Scott to take the shot. 

“Oh.” Laura finally glanced at him as Derek kicked over two chairs, tripping Kali up. “Maybe they meant for it to be the other way around? Meant for them to still look mutated but saner? It’s clear they’re still experimenting.” 

“I guess.”

They both watched, anxious, as Derek backed himself against a wall, letting Kali catch up. She hunkered down for the lunge and Scott ran up behind her, shooting twice. Two purple darts struck her, making her jerk forward in surprise. While she was still off balance, Derek jumped over her and grabbed Scott’s arm, pulling him behind him and out the door. 

Stiles slammed it shut and Laura bolted it. 

“She should be out in a few minutes,” Danny murmured. He’d barely finished speaking when Kali got up and started smashing the tables nearest her, roaring. “You should have two more darts, and Cora should also have four, Scott. You’ll want to dose her again in three hours.”

“Erica, Cora, third floor,” Laura said. “We’ll need help getting her out. Stiles, you and Erica are going to take point while Scott and Cora carry her. Derek and I will bring up the rear.”

Stiles gave Derek his gun back and looked into the room again. 

Kali was stumbling around and ramming into things; Lydia’s wolfsbane tranqs worked pretty fast on them, and Kali wasn’t proving to be an exception. 

He clapped Scott on the back. “You okay?” 

“Yeah, she didn’t notice me, really.” He looked through the window, frowning. “I can’t understand what they’re trying to achieve.”

Stiles shook his head. “Nothing good.” He studied the blood on Kali’s tattered clothes. “Maybe nothing at all.”

Scott sighed quietly. 

 

Erica arrived first, just after Kali finally passed out, toting heavy silver chains that were leaving red burns on her hands. “I’m not getting in the van with her, unconscious or not, unless she’s restrained.”

So they chained Kali up. Getting back out was easy; Erica took care of the one person they happened across, breaking his neck before he knew they were there. Everyone else was dead or hiding, waiting for back up.

Marisol had the back doors of the van open for them. Cora and Scott loaded Kali in with Laura’s help. The silver had left minor burns on their hands and arms where they’d rubbed against them.

“I don’t know what’s worse,” Laura muttered as she ushered everyone into the van. “Riding with the body or her.” She got in and slammed the doors.

“Her,” Stiles replied. “At least Ennis wasn’t going to get up and attack us.” 

“Yeah, but he was _dead_ ,” Cora said, then seemed to remember that she wasn’t speaking to him, because she turned back around.

“You okay?” Scott asked, grabbing Stiles’s hand. “Heard you talking to someone.” 

“Yeah, I’m good.” He squeezed his hand and let go. “Derek saved the day.”

“Well, it was my turn,” he said, shrugging.

Stiles snorted and rubbed his hands on his pants, trying to get some of the blood off.

Scott passed him a couple of alcohol wipes.

“Thanks.” He wiped his hands mostly clean and studied the crescents of blood under his nails. He could feel Derek watching him out of the corner of his eye. “Turning my cam off now, Danny,” he said, clearing his throat. 

“Okay.” Danny sounded distracted. 

Stiles pulled his comm out of his ear and turned his camera off. He wasn’t sure he wanted to take his vest off with Kali in here, and it seemed like everyone else felt the same, because they weren’t unclipping, either. He was exhausted, though, and didn’t see the harm in leaning his head back for a few minutes, or closing his eyes for a cat nap.

 

Stiles woke, disoriented, when the rumbling of the van cut off. He was overly warm, and up higher than he should have been. He had his face pressed into someone’s neck, head tilted back against a shoulder. He sat up and rubbed his face, and discovered he was seated in Derek’s lap. He turned to face him; Derek was still sleeping.

“Peter’s here to take Kali,” Laura said quietly. 

“I can help him,” Stiles said immediately, trying to squirm out of Derek’s lap.

He grumbled and woke up. “What’re you doin’?” he muttered, lifting his hands to Stiles’s waist to steady him.

“We’re home,” Stiles said, and managed to get free.

Laura opened the doors and jumped out, holding a hand up to stop Stiles from following her. 

Peter leaned around her to peer into the van. “She’s alive, right?” he asked warily. 

“Yes. We just sedated her again an hour ago,” Scott said, lifting by her shoulders. “She’s chained, too, so you shouldn’t have trouble getting her...wherever you’re taking her.” 

“Where _are_ you taking her?” Cora asked, climbing into the back to help Scott. 

“To my lab. I have the space, and she’ll be comfortable and safe there.” 

Cora’s face creased. “Your lab? But…” She looked at Erica for help. “We just got her _out_ of a lab.”

Erica was frowning at Peter, too.

“We can’t put her anywhere else,” Peter said slowly. “The lab’s the only place she can be safely contained. She can’t hurt herself or anyone else in there.”

Laura pushed at her hair. “Come on, guys, you saw her. There’s no way she can roam around, and it’s not like they can restrain her in the infirmary.”

“Okay…” Cora didn’t look convinced, but she helped Scott get her out and onto the gurney Peter had brought.

Marisol got out of the van and passed the keys off to one of the women who worked in the garage, thanking her. She waved over her shoulder at Stiles and took off while she could, muttering about finding a bathroom.

Stiles got out behind Erica, stretching until his back popped. He started taking his gear off next to Scott while Peter and Vivian wheeled Kali away. 

“That didn’t feel like a rescue,” Cora mumbled, ripping her vest over her head.

“Peter’s not going to do anything to her,” Stiles reassured her. 

She glared at him until he held his hands up. “She’s going right back into a lab,” she bit out. “Which is where we got her.”

“This lab is dedicated to helping her, though,” Derek said. 

She glowered at him, too, and walked away to talk to Laura. 

“Are you mad?” Derek asked warily, keeping a cautious distance between them. 

Scott took his and Stiles’s vests to deposit in the bins on the far wall for cleaning. 

Stiles focused on unbuckling his utility belt. “This team is really important to me,” he said carefully. “So we just need to not get kicked off of it.”

“I know. We won’t.”

“Okay.” He shrugged. “Good.” He twisted his fingers in the loops of his belt. “I guess I should put this away.” He didn’t move, though, staring at the weapons. “In my room,” he said slowly. “Where my stuff goes.” 

Derek gamely swallowed his laugh. “Right. Well, I have to put my stuff away, too. In my room. Where my stuff goes.” 

“Will you two please, please just leave?” Laura whined, covering her face. “Just go. We’ll go talk to Mom.” 

Stiles snickered, even while Derek was blushing, and grabbed his hand. “Despite the inappropriateness of your timing,” he said as they were leaving the garage, “it was kinda hot, you beating the crap out of those hunters.” 

Derek pressed up behind him, setting his teeth against the side of his neck. “Yeah?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You too,” he said, worrying at the skin he’d nipped with his tongue. “Walk faster,” he urged, squeezing his hands around Stiles’s hips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so tired right now lol so if there are typos i'll probably not notice them until i get to work and see them from afar, when i can't fix them, and whine about it for eight and a half hours before i get home to fix them


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi hi!! I hope you enjoy this chapter! Let me know what you think! We're getting so close to the end!! D:

Stiles looked at Derek’s face and snickered. He looked like he’d rather face down Kali again, which was probably close enough to his actual thoughts. At least he had training to deal with Kali.

“What’re you laughing at?” John asked, opening the door. “I only burned the rolls on the back row. Come on in, boys.” He narrowed his eyes slightly at Derek, making his mouth twist in a quickly concealed little grimace.

“Be nice,” Stiles muttered. “And chill,” he added, stepping into the hall. “It’s just dinner.”

“It’s dinner with your _dad_ ,” Derek hissed, shuffling in behind him.

“You’ve had dinner with my dad before,” he pointed out. He toed his sneakers off on the mat and stepped aside so Derek could do the same. 

“Not like _this_ , alone. Usually Scott and Cora are here, too.” He rubbed his palms across his jeans. “Not…like this,” he repeated awkwardly. 

“Like what?” John asked cheerfully, dropping a hand on each of their shoulders.

For a werewolf, Derek sure reacted like a shocked cat, his eyes rounding, shoulders jerking up and then hunching in. 

“Like my boyfriend,” Stiles said, ripping the band aid off. “Derek and I are dating. Did you bake chicken?” he asked, ducking under John’s arm and going to the kitchen. He figured he’d let those two sort it out; since John didn’t look completely stunned, it couldn’t be too bad. John had known Derek his whole life, after all; they’d be fine. “Smells good,” he called. He got out some plates to give them time to awkwardly grunt at each other. “I’m not eating any of those burned rolls.” He scooped some potatoes on his own plate though; his dad made a mean mashed potato. 

“We better get in there before he drops something,” John muttered. 

Stiles set his plate on the table and made himself a cup of ice water, scowling. “I dropped nothing,” he announced when they entered the kitchen.

“So far,” Derek taunted. He looked relieved when John laughed. 

Stiles sat down and started poking at his food while they made their plates. He’d forgotten how awkward things could get if they didn’t keep up conversation.

“What brought this on?” John asked as he settled in his own seat.

“Laura went and told Talia, so I figured it was only a matter of time before you found out, too,” Stiles replied. He grinned when John looked exasperated. 

“We thought we’d give it a shot. I’ve only regretted it about fifteen times,” Derek said, laughing when Stiles pinched his thigh. 

“Scott’s been taking bets for a year that I know of,” John said, spearing a green bean with his fork. He studied it with a little grin. “He probably stopped feeling guilty about it back in July.”

Stiles scowled. “He _should_ feel guilty!”

John just gave Stiles a _look_ and turned to Derek. “How was that last mission? Scott told me you played bait for him when he got cornered.”

They talked about the mission for a while, then John started talking about his classes and how the teenagers from Finstock’s class had eventually sidled into John’s 8-10-year-old class while he was ranting. 

“They’re fine, though. Having big kids around makes the little ones work harder,” he said with a small, satisfied smile. “Noshiko handles the teenagers pretty well, so only the most determined have stayed with Bobby anyway.”

Stiles snorted. “How is he still teaching? How did we ever learn anything from him?” He tapped his thumb against the edge of his plate, thinking. “I guess we did, though.” 

“He teaches fine in between the nonsense,” John said, amused. “I remember Derek supervising you, Cora, and Scott in his class.” He laughed outright then. “Derek, you even supervised them in _my_ class when you were fourteen, lord, I forgot all about that. You picked Stiles and Cora right up when they started fighting and separated them before I even had the chance.” 

Derek flushed red and put his hand over his face. “Cora should’ve known better,” he muttered.

“Of course she should have!” Stiles exclaimed. “Batman is _way_ better than Dr.-Freaking-Strange!”

Derek sighed.

 

They ate vanilla ice cream on the couch, reminiscing about the trouble Stiles, Scott, and Cora used to get into and the way Derek would follow the three of them around lecturing them about it. 

“Well, you boys better get going. I’m old,” he reminded them. “It’s lucky if I manage to stay up past nine. I’m ready to sit here, read a bit, and fall asleep on the couch.”

Stiles gave him a squeezing hug. “We’ll come have dinner again soon,” he promised. 

John laughed and ran his hand down Stiles’s back. “You do that, son.” He looked at Derek over Stiles’s shoulder. “And stay out of trouble, you two.”

“That went well,” Stiles decided, flexing his hand around Derek’s. “Dad didn’t look _too_ shocked.”

“That’s because _your_ best friend had been taking bets.” 

“Hey, he’s _your_ packmate. You’ve got at least as much blame as I do.” 

Derek huffed, but he didn’t argue, because he _couldn’t_ argue, because Stiles was _right,_ as they made their way to Derek’s room.

“What movie are we watching?” he asked when they got there, bending to look at Derek’s collection. “Is this _Captain America_?”

“No,” Derek replied, walking away.

Stiles turned to see where he went, clutching the movie case. It was totally _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_. 

“We just watched that,” Derek pointed out. “Last night. In _your_ room.”

Stiles waved it above his head. “But _you_ have a copy. _You._ We should watch it!”

He passed Stiles a bottle of water. “Isn’t there anything else you want to watch?”

Stiles glanced back at his collection and sighed. “Alright. _Star Wars_ ,” he said, ducking down. He definitely heard Derek mutter, “ _fuck_ ,” but he didn’t sound very annoyed. 

All he had was _The Force Awakens_ , which was fine, so Stiles put it on and climbed onto the couch beside him. He grinned when Derek leaned up against his side.

Stiles couldn’t help but think about what John had said at dinner, how Derek had been around while they were learning self-defense. He had been looking out for the three of them their whole lives, _literally._ He couldn’t remember a time when Derek wasn’t around, which made him think, brows furrowed.

“Hey, Derek?” he asked around the time Rey was running with Finn across the screen. 

“Yeah?” he mumbled.

“Do you remember my mom at all?”

Derek’s whole body went rigid. “Yeah,” he said slowly. He didn’t relax so much as deliberately unclench his muscles one at a time. “Why?”

“I was just thinking. I don’t really remember her very well, so I just…wondered.” He made an effort to focus on the movie again. “Never mind.”

Derek sat up, brushing his hand over the back of his head. “What did you want to know?” he asked uncomfortably. “Hasn’t, um, hasn’t your dad told you things?”

Stiles shrugged jerkily. “Sort of. He gets sad, talking about her, so I stopped asking. I just wanted to know what you remembered about her, I guess.”

“She was really nice,” Derek said awkwardly. “I used to call her Miss Claudia, um, and she used to have lunch with my parents every Thursday. She was a field operative, like us, and she was good at it.” He cleared his throat. “She favored knives, like you do.” 

Stiles’s brows furrowed. “How’d you know that? I mean, Dad told me, so I sort of knew that.”

Derek looked blank, except the slight widening of his eyes. “I told you she had lunch with my parents every week, maybe I heard it there. She also helped teach the self-defense classes sometimes and stuff. I just remembered it and thought you would want to know.”

Stiles held his hands up. “Okay, calm down.” He picked at the seam of his pants. “I just wish I remembered her better.”

Derek’s throat clicked when he swallowed. “I know. I’m sorry.” He cleared his throat. “You sort of look like her, from what I remember.”

Stiles smiled. “Thanks.”

He nodded and got off the couch like his legs were numb, stumbling slightly and grabbing the arm for support. “Do you need more water?” he asked, already walking away.

“Uh, no, thanks.” He sighed and leaned over the back of the couch. “Why are you so uncomfortable?” he asked carefully.

“I don’t mean to be,” he muttered. “It’s just…sad.” 

Stiles nodded. Maybe that was why he acted weird whenever he brought her up. He should just ask Laura. She was older than Derek and would probably remember more anyway. “Come on, keep me warm. It’s cold in here.” He grinned when Derek’s brows rose.

He snorted and set his cup aside before climbing onto the couch and sprawling in Stiles’s lap. He pressed his face into his hip. “You’re always cold.” 

“The entire bunker is made of metal and cement. Even the floors and the walls! It’s cold in here!” He tugged gently at Derek’s hair, then stroked it flat again. “Just watch the movie.”

He hummed and relaxed again, so Stiles resumed stroking his hair and looked at the TV.

 

They learned about their new mission the next day, while Erica and Scott were sparring and the rest of them were watching. Jordan came to get them, looking annoyed. 

“Alpha Hale sent me to get you,” he said. “She wants to brief you on your mission.”

Laura huffed. “Alright. Thanks, Jordan.”

He nodded and ducked back out of the gym. 

Erica looked up from where she was holding Scott’s arm behind his back. “Aw, do we have to go now?” She pouted. “I wanted to see the love birds fight.” 

Laura scoffed. “I wasn’t going to suffer through that. I was going to put Stiles with Cora anyway.” She pulled her off of Scott. “Come on, let’s go find out where we’re going.” 

Talia and Ian were busy when they got to Talia’s office; Ian was buzzing around collecting papers and stuffing them into a folder while Talia stood over her desk rapidly signing a stack of documents. 

“Just a second, kids, I’m sorry.” Talia tucked her hair behind her ear and signed one last paper before straightening up. “Thank you, babe,” she said when Ian scooped up the signed docs.

“You’re welcome. Dinner, 8,” he said firmly, kissing her on the mouth. He waved at the group and left the room at a quick clip. 

“Sit down.” Talia gestured at the chairs and flopped into her own seat. “A vampire from Alpha Santos’s region was taken a couple months ago. Surveillance found him and since he’s pretty close to us, we’re going to send you.” 

“Where?” Laura asked. 

“Nevada, actually.” Talia looked at some papers in front of her. “It’s in a facility they recently opened up again. Surveillance said they’ve been rebuilding it and just took the vampire there a couple days ago. He was in pretty bad condition—caged and shackled.” Her mouth twisted.

“When do we leave?” Laura leaned forward.

“This evening.” Talia pinched her nose. “He’s likely in the same condition as Kali Malik and Ennis Fletcher. We haven’t been able to figure out what they’re doing or why, but we’ve had several encounters like that, as you know, and Kali was the only one we’ve had brought back alive.” She sighed deeply. “Lydia’s team finally made some tranqs out of linden ash bark, which should make it usable on vampires.”

“Should?” Erica repeated, sitting up straight. 

Talia sighed. “It’s difficult to tranquilize us, let alone vampires.” She looked at them gravely. “If the tranquilizers don’t work, kill him.”

“Aren’t we supposed to be rescuing him?” Scott asked, frowning.

“Yes, and I want you to, but if you can’t…if it’s too difficult to get him out and the tranquilizers don’t work, he’ll be better off if you kill him.”

“Why?” Scott pressed, looking even more horrified. 

She studied him for a long moment. “ _If_ the tranqs don’t work, and you can’t get him out, killing him would be a mercy. They would just continue to experiment on him if he was left alive.”

Scott cringed, looking guilty; Stiles couldn’t quite keep the grimace off his face, glancing toward Derek.

“So that’s why you kill him if you can’t get him out,” Talia went on. “You’ll be leaving this evening so that you can go in around three AM. Foster will be monitoring your mission, and Jordan will be driving. Lydia will have prepared the tranquilizers for you already.” 

“Thanks,” Laura said. “Is that everything?”

“For now.”

“Good.” She jumped up. “We’ll finish sparring later,” she said, poking Stiles’s ribs and making him squawk. “Can’t have you getting flabby.”

“Flabby-!”

“The rest of you go,” Talia said before Stiles’s voice could go any higher. “I’d like Derek and Stiles to wait a second, please.”

Derek sat back in his chair immediately, looking nervous.

Laura shuffled the others out, though Scott managed to give them a thumbs up over her shoulder before she closed the door. 

Stiles glanced at Talia’s face, trying to gauge her mood.

“Laura told me that your relationship hasn’t—and won’t—interfere with your work performance,” she said, steepling her fingers under her chin. 

“It hasn’t,” Stiles agreed quickly. “And it won’t.” He smiled uneasily. 

She leaned back. “Good. I would _like_ to have dinner with you two when you get back—as I’m sure Ian would, as well—but,” she sighed, “most of the time that’s just not possible.” 

“Well,” Stiles began, glancing at Derek, “we could try to do breakfast or lunch instead.” He smiled again.

“We’ll set something up, some sort of family meal.” She waved her hand. “It wouldn’t be any fun if we didn’t embarrass Derek.” 

Derek snorted, making her laugh. 

“Be careful,” she said with another little sigh. “You’d better start getting ready.” 

“That wasn’t too painful,” Stiles said in the hall, and heard Talia laugh in her office. “Oops.”

Derek shook his head and walked further away. “Yeah, it wasn’t. We probably won’t have to eat with them or anything. She’s always busy.”

Stiles grabbed his hand and turned him. “What’s the matter?” he asked, frowning. “You look pissed.”

“I’m not,” he muttered. “Nothing’s wrong. Let’s go get our things.”

Stiles sighed and followed him. “Whatever you say, _dear._ ” He got a real look for that one, considering there were far worse things he could’ve—and had, in the past—called him.

 

Foster got into the locking system of the Nevada facility, making their entrance much easier and quieter than they had been on any of their other recent missions. 

They went in through the guard’s breakroom. Erica went in all smiles and blonde curls and flirting, and tossed a smoke bomb while everyone else waited outside. She and Derek blocked both doors until the guards were all unconscious, and let them in once the smoke cleared. 

“Looks like most of them are working in the lab,” Foster said. “According to their notes, anyway. And, shit, they’re working on a vampire ‘subject’ right now, too.”

Laura scowled. “So we have to confront some of them.”

“Yeah.”

“Laura.” Stiles jerked his head. “You guys can go in and smoke the lab while I watch the hall.”

Her jaw ticked. “Erica will watch the door with you.”

“That’s fine.”

“Foster, where’s the lab?”

“Umm, out the door to your left, possibly? There’s a lot of power coming from the back of the building, but that’s about all I can get from their system.”

“Right. Fucking paranoid hunters.” Laura kicked the wall and gestured at them to follow her. 

The halls were pretty empty—any time they heard anyone, they simply stepped aside and managed to avoid them, thanks to the werewolf hearing—so they got to the lab with little trouble. Stiles did manage to step on his own foot and trip into Scott, who flinched but caught him, grabbing his shoulder to right him.

“Any way you can unlock the lab?” Laura asked, pausing when she saw the door. 

“If it’s computerized, it should be down already. If it’s not, you’ll have to break in.” Foster sounded frustrated. “I’m in their system but they have weird stuff going on. Hey, Danny!” Her voice clicked off.

“It’s computerized,” Derek said, nudging Laura’s shoulder. “See? Those blue lights are on, same as the door we came in.” 

“Erica, Stiles, watch the hall.” She jerked her chin at Cora, Derek, and Scott. “Derek, take point, throw the bomb in first. Cora, take up the rear and make sure the door stays closed.” 

Stiles grimaced and turned his back to the door, keeping an eye on the hall, while Erica did the same in the other direction.

The door opened with a quiet click and the team rushed in. 

“Danny says they’re running experiments on their computer programs, too, probably to throw us off,” Foster sighed. “They’re also running a _ton_ of electricity into that lab.” 

Stiles flinched when a gun fired behind them, bringing his own weapon up in case anyone heard the noise and came to investigate.

“Damn,” Cora gasped, immediately followed by Laura snapping at her to get by the door.

Erica tapped her foot twice and nodded to the left hall she was watching when Stiles looked at her. 

He nodded and moved to the middle, guarding the door while she slipped away. A few seconds later, a muffled _snap_ came through the comm, making him grimace.

“I’m just gonna put this guy in an empty room,” Erica said. “Be right back.”

Stiles glanced over his shoulder and saw thick purple smoke pressing against the glass.

“They’re all out,” Laura said. “We’re opening a door on the other end of the hallway, so the smoke can clear out.”

“Don’t bother,” Derek grunted. “Found him.” His voice sounded tense. “He’s dead.”

“Might not be,” Scott said quickly. “He’s a vampire, remember? Cora, open the door while I check him over.”

Erica returned and sniffed noisily. “Who’s bleeding?” she asked, frowning.

“Me,” Derek muttered. “It’s fine,” he added. “It’ll heal once I take the scalpel out.”

“Scal-” Stiles started, biting his tongue to stop himself. 

Erica’s lips curled, but she stayed blessedly quiet about his slip. “Let us know when we can come in.”

The scientists were piled unceremoniously in a corner when Stiles and Erica entered the lab. Cora was going through the nearby files and computers while Derek watched the back door and Scott examined the vampire strapped to the operation table in the middle of everything. Laura watched the door they came through.

“Something weird is in his blood,” he said, turning the vampire’s arm over slowly to examine the injection marks. 

“That’s what Peter said about Ennis and Kali,” Stiles said, approaching. 

“I guess. But why is he dead?” Scott reached back and grabbed a pen, using it to lift the vampire’s upper lip. He grimaced at the sight of the hollow-looking fangs. “They were starving him, ugh.” 

“Okay, are you satisfied?” Laura barked. “Is he dead?”

Scott shook his head slightly. “It’s hard to tell with vampires, his healing might be slowed due to hunger…” He frowned. “His gums look blue.”

“So?” Cora prompted.

“Lead poisoning?” Stiles suggested. He was trying to stay focused, but he wanted to see how bad Derek’s wound was.

“Maybe. Hang on.” Scott checked the silver and wood restraints that were keeping the vampire in place, then took a knife out of his belt, running it along his arm. He held it over the vampire’s mouth, letting it drip past his sick, decaying fangs. 

Cora braced at the other end of the table, aiming her tranq gun at the vampire just in case.

“I think he’s dead,” Erica said. “Seriously dead. Whatever they did to him didn’t stick—or it did, I guess, if they meant to kill him.”

Scott grimaced. “I think you’re right.” He frowned at the body. “You don’t think they were trying to make him like Kali, do you?”

“What do you mean?” Laura asked distractedly. “Cora, go watch the door,” she added, leaving her post to approach the table. 

Stiles understood. “Ennis was mutated, Kali looked normal. That vampire I ran into was just like Ennis, mutated and crazed. This vamp looks normal…”

Laura nodded, staring at the body. “Shit. Alright. Scott, Erica, load him in a body bag. Foster, let Mom know the target is dead.”

“Got it,” she replied.

Stiles crossed the lab toward Derek, who was watching the second door. “Hey, how’s your wound?”

“Fine. It healed.” He turned so Stiles could see the rip in his shirt where he’d been stabbed, apparently. “It didn’t have wolfsbane on it or anything.”

“Talia wants you to bring the body back for an autopsy,” Foster reported. 

“Of course she does,” Erica sighed.

Stiles turned, but they were already loading the body into a bag, the restraints splintered and bent out of shape. “Should we go scope out the hallway?”

“Yeah, you and Derek go ahead. Let us know if it’s clear, and we’ll bring the body. Jordan, we’re on our way. Ready?”

“Yes.”

Stiles patted Cora’s shoulder as he passed her, leaving Derek behind to help with the body. He pushed the door open and stepped right into the path of a guard patrolling the hall. The door slapped shut loudly, drawing her attention to him.

She blinked at him and whipped her gun up; Stiles slammed the heel of his palm into her wrist, forcing the gun up toward the ceiling, and struck her throat with the side of his other hand. He locked his fingers around her wrist, holding her gun hand away, and tried to knee her in the gut. She jerked forward and slammed her forehead into Stiles’s face, making him sputter and stumble back, blinking dazedly. She twisted her wrist and tried to take aim at his face. He jerked back and hooked his foot around her knee, yanking until she lost her balance. 

She lost her grip on her gun and grabbed him by the vest, pulling him down with her. 

There was a confusing struggle for a moment with both of them scrambling for the gun she’d dropped. Stiles caught her hand just before she grabbed it and wrenched her fingers back until they snapped, making her shriek. He released her hand and fumbled for his sidearm, flipping the safety and swinging it up. He shot her under the chin, spraying blood and tissue along the white tiles and wall. 

“Shit,” he gasped, shaking his head to dispel the ringing in his ears. He scrambled to his feet. “Shit, shit, someone probably heard that.” He pressed a hand to his left ear.

“No shit?” Erica mocked.

“Derek!” Laura snapped. 

“It’s not his fault,” Stiles muttered. “I should’ve checked before I stepped out.”

“Get out there, watch the hall,” Laura ordered.

Derek stepped out looking guilty and irritated. “I’ll move her, you stay here.”

It didn't really matter whether they moved her or not—there was blood everywhere, and the shot had no doubt echoed down the halls—but Derek moved the body anyway, and kept watch around the corner while Stiles watched the door. 

“Back the way we came,” Laura ordered. 

It was awkward trying to sneak a body out of the building without drawing attention.

Erica, Derek, and Stiles took point; Laura brought up the rear. Stiles had his knives out, as it was the quietest way he could take care of someone, while Erica and Derek stowed their weapons completely. 

They came across a group of four on their way to check out the racket Stiles had caused; they looked frankly surprised to meet them and for a moment, Stiles thought Erica could charm their way out, but then Cora and Scott rounded the corner with the body bag and the confusion turned into aggression and guns were coming out. 

Stiles struck the man closest to him first, slashing the edge of his knife across his face and blocking the arm he was trying to bring up. He brought the knife down and dragged it across his exposed throat, sending blood gushing over both of them; a sharp _crack!_ sounded behind him as Derek and Erica dealt with the others. Stiles dropped the body he was holding and found himself face-to-face with a surprised, young hunter.

She was holding her gun like it was her first time, and staring at the body on the floor, not at Stiles. 

He stepped in close and fast, grabbed her wrist and twisted it out, away from him, and cut her throat before she could defend herself. 

“Here,” Erica said, hefting two of the bodies over her shoulder. She opened a door and peered inside. “Janitorial closet,” she said approvingly. She leaned down and dumped the bodies she was holding inside. Blood smeared the left side of her face, but she didn’t seem hurt. “Derek,” she prompted. 

Stiles grabbed the man and put him over his shoulder like Erica had done, carting him to the closet. “Is the hall clear ahead?” he grunted, dumping his load inside with the other two. 

Derek followed behind with the last two. “Yeah, sounds quiet.” He looked at Cora and Scott. “C’mon, it’s clear.” 

Stiles wiped his knife on his pants while Erica shoved a leg into the closet until the door would close. 

She wiped her forehead and looked around. “Well, until someone comes over this way, we’ll be undetected.” 

Stiles looked at the mess and snorted. “Yeah.”

Laura shot them an impatient glare. “Moving, now. Before someone _does_ decide to come this way.” 

“You got it, boss,” Erica chirped, breaking the handle of the janitorial closet off and stuffing it in her pocket. “Lead on, lover.” She winked at Derek. Fighting always put her in a creepily good mood. 

 

“Your nose is bleeding,” Scott said once they were all in the van. “And your lip is split. Here.” He tossed Stiles a cold compress that he’d already popped and activated.

“Thanks. She headbutted me,” he muttered indignantly. He pressed the compress to his swollen lip. “Who _does_ that?” He pulled his comm out of his ear and pulled his legs away from the body bag Laura was adjusting. 

“You,” Cora said, pulling her leg up to unstrap her boot. “You chipped my front tooth when we were eleven!”

“That was an accident,” Stiles insisted. “Scott tripped me, so it’s his fault!”

“I didn’t mean to!” Scott pushed the compress back against Stiles’s mouth. “Stop talking. Shh!”

Stiles shook his head and leaned back. His left ear was still sort of ringing, but since it had faded since a few minutes ago, he figured it wasn’t a problem. 

Erica sighed and kicked back next to him, leaning her head against Derek’s shoulder. “Listen, if you two get any ideas-” she started.

“Dude, you’re sitting right here, we’re not gross.”

“I was going to say make sure I’m awake,” she scoffed. 

Derek huffed and flicked her cheek, making her laugh and turn, digging her teeth into his shoulder sharply. He flinched and shoved her off him. “Brat.”

“If I thought you meant that, I’d retaliate. Princess, wake me up if anything happens,” Erica said, stretching across the seat to poke Cora’s shoulder. 

“Nothing’s going to happen.” Stiles patted Erica’s back. “Also, you’re really freaking me out lately.”

She smiled and pinched his chin between her fingers. “I’ve been watching you two do the most drawn out hate-or-mate dance ever, the least you can do is give me a little show, lover.” Then, with a little yawn, she leaned against his shoulder. “Let me sleep now, thanks.” 

He rolled his eyes at Derek, who just shook his head and shrugged. He sighed.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!!! Here's chapter 16! Happy happy!!

Lydia tapped her pen irritably, her clipboard bouncing against her leg. Her eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. 

Stiles huffed. “Why _not?_ ” 

“Because if anything goes wrong, you’re out of commission, and then the team’s short,” she replied promptly. 

“Who else should test them, then? I already used one in the field. Before it was ready, even!”

“Yeah, and guess who got chewed out for that?”

Stiles raised his brows. “Someone chewed you out?”

She smiled. “Someone tried.” 

Yeah, he could imagine how that had gone. “Look, I’m here for now, no mission in waiting…And I’ll be one of the people that has to use one.”

She sighed deeply. “Fine.” She slammed her clipboard onto her desk and stood. “They’re pretty much perfected anyway.” 

He snorted, offended. “Then why did you make me beg?” he demanded, offended. 

“Because they _haven’t_ been tested since I made the tweaks. They could still have flaws.” She looked gratified when he scoffed in disbelief.

“Where are we doing the test?” He glanced around the lab at the humans and supernaturals working diligently at their tables. He doubted they would appreciate smoke bombs being set off in their workplace. 

“Through here, there’s a little cell we’ve been using to test the smoke bombs.” She picked up one of the finished masks off one of the work tables and gestured for him to follow her. “As you can see, we’ve attached goggles now, so your eyes will be protected. I was a little concerned about them affecting your peripheral vision, so we made them detachable. The only smoke that should bother your eyes is the red smoke, so that’s the one you should watch out for.” 

“Right.”

She pressed the mask against his chest and opened the cell. “We’ll just use half a dose of the purple bomb first.” 

“Okay.” He frowned and pulled the mask over his head. “This will get tangled in the comm wire,” he said as he fixed it over his face.

“It’s the only way to make sure it’s secure,” Lydia said firmly. 

He held up his hands and went into the cell. “What should I do?” The mask wasn’t uncomfortable, leather and plastic and metal all crafted to be firm but not painful where it curved around his jaw and cheeks. 

“Just stand there.” Lydia closed the door and pushed something in through a tray. “Set this off.” 

“Great, so I get to poison myself?”

She lifted her brows. “You were the one bugging _me_ , remember?” 

He sighed and picked up the bomb; he dropped it when it cracked and started smoking, cringing slightly as the purple smoke filled the cell. He made himself breathe normally, braced for the throat-tickle. 

The smoke wasn’t as thick or as dark as it normally was, and Stiles didn’t feel anything after a few minutes. “How long should we wait?” he asked, scratching the back of his head. “Seems to be working.”

“Hang on.” A loud fan whirred on above, clearing the smoke in less than a minute. “Okay, here’s a full-powered paralytic bomb. I doubt it’ll get through the mask, but if it does, we have a way to revive you, so don’t worry.”

“Alright.” He rolled his shoulders and cracked the bomb, just like the first one. 

Yellow smoke filled the cell; Stiles cringed a little, expecting to feel his muscles seize as the smoke drifted toward his face. He supposed he could show a little more confidence in Lydia’s work, but to be fair, the last time he’d tried one of these masks, his eyes had started burning and he’d nearly passed out. 

Luckily, this mask was much better made, because he felt fine, even after a few minutes of standing in the thick of it. 

The fan whirred on again after another minute, and once the smoke cleared, the door opened. Lydia looked immensely satisfied. “Perfect.”

“Don’t you want to test out the red bombs?” he asked.

“It should work the same with all of them,” she said. When he didn’t move, she sighed. “Fine. Thorough, at least.” She shut the door again and went to get another smoke bomb.

After they’d brought the vampire—Lawrence Harrison—back, Talia had told them to rest up and that she’d let them know when they were needed again. Stiles was bored, and Talia and Ian had been so busy sending out other teams and sharing information with the other Alphas that they hadn’t slowed down for a lunch together. 

It was silly, anyway. Stiles had only wanted to do it because it seemed kind of fun and normal, having dinner—or a meal, at least—with each other’s parents since they were _dating._ Plus, since they all lived so close together, things could have gotten awkward really quickly if one of the families got offended about being kept out of the loop. 

“Okay, here.” Lydia pushed the tray in a third time. 

Once the red smoke had cleared—and Lydia was right, of course, the mask didn’t let any of the smoke in—she let him out and held a hand out.

“Okay. You keep that one with the rest of your gear. I’m making enough for all of our active humans, so there’s no chance of anyone getting poisoned.” She stepped up to a table where two people were working. “My silver serum has worked for vampires, but not werewolves or kitsune. It’s unfortunate,” she said stiffly. “I can’t figure out what’s missing.” She rubbed her temple. She looked like she hadn’t been sleeping much. “Thank you for volunteering, but I’m-” 

The door to Peter’s lab opened suddenly, a cacophony of snarls and crashes spilling into the room, before it slammed shut again, leaving everyone frozen in shock. 

“Back to work!” Lydia called. “Nothing to worry about.” 

“It’s probably just Adam messing around,” Stiles said cheerfully, stepping toward the door.

Lydia caught his arm. “If one of them got out,” she said very, very quietly, “it could be dangerous to go in there.”

He smiled and said through his teeth, “And how are we supposed to make sure everyone is still alive in there?”

“Adam, Peter, and Vivian can handle it, and I can call them.” She let go and stepped away, marching to her desk for the phone. 

Stiles tried to hear anything beyond the door, but it’d been sound-proofed for a reason.

Laura stuck her head into the lab. “There you are,” she snapped, spotting Stiles. “Mom wants to see you.” She frowned over her shoulder. “Cora said you went to the armory.” 

“Me? Why?”

She smiled widely. “Lunch. Cora and I are coming, too.” 

“Oh, Derek’ll love that.” He glanced at the other door again, but Lydia caught his eye and mouthed, “It’s fine,” so he guessed they didn’t need any help in there. “Alright,” he sighed, glancing over at the door one last time. 

“Come _on_ ,” Laura said. “You can bug Peter later. I’m sure he’s still working on that autopsy, anyway.” 

Stiles crossed the lab and followed her out. “I can’t believe your parents found time _now_ for lunch.”

She lifted a brow at him. “Because you were so busy?” 

“I was helping! See!” He held up his new mask. “Now I don’t have to get left behind.” 

She snorted, trying to muffle her laughter against her arm. “Oh, man. You’re going to look like a supervillain! That’s great.”

He shoved her away. “Whatever. At least I’ll be _conscious._ ” 

“True. Did she make them for all human field operatives?” she asked more seriously. 

“Yes—or if not, she’s going to. She told me to put this with my gear.” 

“We can drop it off on our way then. We’re eating at my parents’ place,” Laura said with a wicked grin. “You can accompany Derek. He’s in his room moping. I’ll just drop you off in our hall. Don’t try to skip out. You’ll offend us.” She laughed when he just stared at her. “It’ll be fun. I think Dad found some baby pictures of Derek.”

Stiles grinned. “Great.”

Derek was waiting outside of Stiles’s room when Laura left him at their hall. “Hey,” he said cautiously. 

“Hey.” Stiles held up the mask. “Just putting this away, then we can go have lunch.” 

“Alright.” He looked unhappy, which was worrying.

Stiles turned his attention to his key, slowly unlocking his door. “What’s up, man? You look like someone just stole your last cookie.” 

He scowled briefly. “I do not—it’s nothing,” he muttered. 

Stile shrugged. If Derek wanted to be in a bad mood, then he could be. He stepped over the pile of laundry he should have put away a few days ago and into the rest of the room.

“We could skip lunch,” Derek blurted while Stiles was bent over, setting the mask in the locker at the foot of his bed with the rest of his gear. 

He looked up, brows furrowed. “Okay…why?” He straightened, the beginnings of anger turning his face red. “What, you don’t want to have a meal with _your_ family? If you recall, I used to eat dinner with you guys and your aunt Tia _all the time._ What’s the difference now?”

Derek shook his head. “I—we’re—this is-”

“We had dinner with my dad. You made it,” Stiles pointed out. “What’s your problem?” 

“My problem is my sisters,” he blurted before Stiles could go on. 

He blinked. “Your sisters.” 

“Cora doesn’t think we should do this, and I know Laura thinks it’s fine but my parents—Stiles, my mom is an _Alpha_ to the _Pack._ ”

Stiles frowned. “I’m aware…”

“She’s going to think I’m not taking my job seriously!” 

Stiles jerked his head back, startled. “What? Did…she seem to think that when she invited us to lunch?” he asked dryly, kicking the locker closed. “Look, if you don’t want to do this, just say so. You’re a fucking adult, Derek. So am I, so is Cora, so are your parents.”

Derek shook his head again, even backing up a step. “I want to do this. You’re right, I’m an adult. Cora thinks we’re going to hurt each other,” he added, crossing his arms. “And I…don’t…want that.” 

Stiles gestured at him to get out of the way so he could lock the door. “Come on, we’re late. Cora’s right,” he said simply.

Derek looked shocked. “What?”

“People get bumped and bruised when they’re involved with each other,” he pointed out. “She’s going to have to back off and let us figure out if it’s worth it.” 

“Right,” Derek said quietly. He cleared his throat. “You’re right. Sorry. And—yeah, I’m just going to stop while I’m ahead.” He looked alarmed. “I sound like you.” 

“Good idea, and I sound awesome.” 

Laura opened the door for them. “You took _forever,_ ” she hissed. “They’re cooking together. I might gag. Get in here.” 

“Someone had a minor meltdown,” Stiles said, stepping inside. “Over something _someone else_ said.” He shot a glare at Cora, who was giving her undivided attention to setting the table. 

Laura sighed and lunged, grabbing Derek by the ears. “You’re a dork,” she said. “You’re a dork and I love you.” She kissed his head. “C’mon, let’s go get back at Cora.” 

Stiles closed the door while the two of them went and grabbed Cora. He’d forgotten how close the Hales were, in their own space, when work for the Pack wasn’t demanding their attention.

In the kitchen, Ian was singing in Gaelic while he cooked, and Talia hummed along, chopping something with rapid precision and dumping it in the pot simmering on the stove. Ian’s singing voice was nice; Stiles remembered him singing to him, Cora, and Scott when he would watch them during sleepovers, or when one of them had a nightmare. 

John couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket, and Talia could never remember enough lyrics if she had time to babysit them and had preferred to read to them instead. 

“I remember this song,” Stiles said, stepping into the kitchen and leaning his shoulder against the wall. 

“It was your favorite,” Ian replied. “ _Gaelach Máthair_ ,” he sang, putting a fingertip under Talia’s chin and making her smile. 

“Moon mother or something like that,” Laura said. “They’re horrible.” She hooked her arm around Stiles’s neck. “Also, that song is ingrained in my head because of you and your neediness as a kid.” She squeezed him. “Mom says Dad used to sing in the cafeteria when they were kids.” 

Ian snorted. “Yeah, until your mother threw a plate at me and told me to shut-up.” 

“I was a romantic,” Talia said serenely.

“Ah, I see where Laura gets it,” Stiles quipped. He squawked when Laura pulled him into a headlock and dug her fingers into his ribs. “Okay, okay!” 

She released him. “You’re still a brat.” She pinched the tip of his nose and skipped back out of reach before he could retaliate. 

“We’re having chili for lunch,” Talia said, peering into the pot. “Probably.”

“And hot dogs,” Ian said. “Cora still won’t eat chili unless there are hot dogs,” he said fondly. “Move, mo ghrá, you’re still useless with anything more complicated than an egg.”

She shrugged and stepped away. “I’d offer wine or beer, but all we have is water and maybe some orange juice.”

“Orange juice is expired, mo stór,” Ian called. 

“We have water,” she repeated. “Would anyone like a glass?”

“Sure,” Stiles snickered. 

Derek dropped Cora onto the couch, climbed over it, and tripped over a wrinkle in the rug. “Fuck,” he yelped, earning a sharp look from Talia. “Sorry.”

“You’ve got your grandmother’s mouth,” Ian grumbled. “Alright, five minutes and it’ll be done.”

“So are we going to wait til we’re eating to embarrass Derek?” Laura asked gleefully. 

“Be nice to your brother,” Talia said. “But we’ve put a baby picture book on the coffee table,” she added with a quick, sly smile.

“Don’t-” Derek started, but Stiles had already turned to grin at him. 

“ _Baby picture book_.” He ducked Derek’s reaching arms and ran for the living area.

Cora was still on the couch, her arms crossed. “It’s not like you never saw him as a kid. We all grew up here.”

Stiles couldn’t hide his grimace at her tone. “Yeah,” he said, forcing himself to perk up, “but I never saw him as a cute little baby. I was like, less than a fetus at the time.” He shook his shoulders and scooped up the baby book. 

Behind him, the other Hales were still frozen, obviously unsure how to respond to Cora’s attitude. 

Stiles flipped the book open and let out a surprised laugh at the first picture, a newborn Derek wrapped in a green hospital baby blanket. His dark hair (he already had a head full of it) stood straight up on his head, out around his scrunched up red face. He was in a young, dark haired girl’s arms, her legs stuck straight out over the edge of the chair she was settled in, grinning up at the camera. 

“Oh my god. I didn’t know you had pictures from _this_ far back,” he snickered. “Derek, you had so much hair right away, oh my god!”

“Everyone always commented on that,” Talia said with a grin. “Laura was bald until she was two, poor kid.”

Laura scowled. “I wasn’t _bald_ , I had _some_ hair. Just because I didn’t look permanently shocked like _someone_ …” 

Stiles flipped to the next page and laughed again. Pictured was a younger Ian, sprawled on his back, mouth wide open in sleep, while baby Derek laid on his tummy, completely naked, staring, with apparent curiosity, at his father. 

Laura was in the next picture, her hair bound back in two braids, feeding Derek a bottle and scowling.

“Laura _hated_ feeding him,” Talia said, peering over his shoulder. “She didn’t understand why she couldn’t just share her lunch with him.”

“That’s because the little squid didn’t have teeth.” Laura scowled mockingly and poked Derek’s shoulder. “Couldn’t even eat chicken nuggets.”

Stiles kept flipping, grinning when he came upon a picture of toddler-Derek in clownish makeup, sitting on the edge of a bathtub. Laura was holding a makeup brush caked with thick pink blusher that she’d already smeared liberally on Derek’s cheekbones. 

“Oh, wow. You look, um. Really great here.”

“He was two,” Talia snickered. “I believe that’s actually lipstick on his cheeks.” 

“That makes sense.”

Derek shook his head. “That’s what Laura looks like when she puts on makeup _now_.” 

Laura pinched him.

“Food’s done!” Ian called. “Stop embarrassing each other and come here.”

Stiles tilted the photo album toward Derek, shoulders trembling. “Is this a bunny onesie?” he choked.

“I was _three_ , Stiles,” Derek muttered. “It’s not like I chose it!”

“He did,” Talia called. “Come here, Cora, I want you to sit here.”

Somehow, once they were all seated, Stiles was put between Laura and Cora and across from Derek. 

“Before _anyone else_ decides to embarrass me, remember that I know all of _your_ embarrassing stories.”

Cora snorted. “Sure you do.” 

He pointed at her. “Dad’s clippers.” He pointed at Laura. “Lantern holder.”

Talia and Ian laughed as their daughters flushed deep red. 

Stiles grinned. “Wait, clippers? What happened with clippers?” 

Cora, still red-faced, muttered, “Never you mind.”

Ian snorted. “You can blackmail your sisters, Derek, but-”

“ _Alien cat._ ” 

Ian shut his mouth with a click, face reddening.

Stiles snorted. “Dude, how do you have a story for everyone?” he asked, while the rest of the table looked at Ian curiously.

Derek looked smug. “I always get stuck helping everyone clean up. Middle child syndrome.” 

“That’s not strictly-” Talia began.

“Bubbles,” he interrupted in a clear, confident voice. 

Seeing Talia Hale cowed, let alone by the word _bubbles_ , was as shocking as it was hilarious. Again, the rest of the family seemed to have no idea what Derek was talking about. 

“Remember the time Stiles fell in the toilet?” Cora asked loudly. 

“ _Dude!_ ” Stiles protested, waving his spoon dangerously. “What did I ever do to you?!”

She smiled sharply and took a bite of her lunch.

“When did this happen?” Talia asked, bewildered. 

“When I was nine,” Derek said, suppressing laughter. “Cora and I heard Stiles calling for help.” His voice trembled. “We had to pull him out.”

Ian started laughing, managing to gasp, “Sorry,” between snorts. “You were such a skinny little guy. I can just imagine…” He had to cover his face and try to catch his breath.

Derek snorted. “His elbows were the only things keeping him out of the water,” he said, making his parents and sisters shout with laughter. 

“Happy?” Stiles muttered to Cora. “You’re going to have to get over it eventually.”

She leaned in close. “I do love you, y’know. Both of you. Neither of you have a good track record with relationships. I don’t want you to be careless with each other.”

“We won’t be,” he said, poking her.

The rest of the table was quieting down, so Cora sat back again and resumed eating.

The rest of the meal was punctured only with easy conversation and light ribbing. No one asked awkward questions, Cora was friendlier, and best of all, Derek looked happy.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!! Here's chapter 17!! Yay!! Almost to the end yikessss! This chapter was fun to write, too!

“You have a problem,” Stiles said, muffled by layers of cloth. 

Derek’s reply was equally muffled. “I told you I haven’t had time to clean it out!”

Stiles snorted. “How you managed to hide this from everyone, I will never understand. You seem like such a neat freak!” 

“I wasn’t hiding anything!”

“You’re a hoarder!” Before he could continue, though, an avalanche of clothes buried him. He was helping Derek clean out his closet in the most unfortunately literal of ways. “Look at this!” He struggled free of his denim prison and waved a pair of jeans above his head like a flag. “These clearly don’t fit you anymore. Why do you have them?”

“I—they might fit,” Derek muttered. 

“No, I’m positive they wouldn’t get over that spectacular ass of yours. Try. I dare you.” He flung the jeans at Derek, who caught them. 

He sighed heavily and dropped them on the ever-growing pile to his left. 

“That’s what I thought.” He turned and dove back into the closet. He returned with an armful of dark clothes. “You have such a variety in here. How do you choose which shade of _dark_ to wear daily?”

Derek scowled at him. “It’s so I don’t wear bunker clothes outside.”

“Sure it is.” Stiles sorted pants from shirts from hoodies, amazed at the wide range of sizes. “Have you kept everything you’ve ever owned?” he demanded, lifting a small-ish grey t-shirt from the pile. There was no way Derek had squeezed into it in the past decade at least; it’d have ripped. There was a perfectly preserved purple hand print right in the middle of it, smaller than Derek would have been when he got the shirt. 

Derek snatched it. “That one’s stained. No one will want it,” he muttered, dropping it in the Keep pile.

“So why not toss it?”

He shrugged and kept working on his own pile.

Stiles sighed and looked at his. He supposed Derek’s clothes-hoarding habit wasn’t going to be completely broken in one day. “What about this?” He held up a deep blue sweater, way too slim in the shoulders for Derek. 

He winced. “That’s Laura’s. She probably doesn’t know it’s in here.”

Stiles grinned. “We can get Scott to give it back to her. She won’t be able to get mad at his puppy eyes.” 

“You’d think,” Derek muttered. He flicked a shirt into the Give Away pile. 

“Okay, so, yesterday,” Stiles began. 

Derek sighed. “I’m not telling.”

It’d been about thirty hours since they’d had lunch with Derek’s family. Stiles had asked, oh, about sixty times what those stories were that he’d blackmailed them with. So far, he hadn’t given in.

“Just tell me _one._ Please?” He pursed his lips, considering. “I’m willing to trade sexual favors for stories,” he said casually as he folded a pair of frankly appalling shorts. He made to toss them into the Give Away pile. 

Derek, who was clearly paying more attention than he wanted to let on, barely looked up. “Those still fit, actually,” he said. 

“What, really?” Stiles held them up, then shot an appraising glance at Derek. “Hmmmm.” 

Derek snatched them. ‘What story did you want to hear?” he asked, folding a shirt. His face looked flushed. 

“Cora’s,” he said instantly. 

Derek snorted. “You’ll be disappointed. Remember when you were about seven and Cora was out of class for a few weeks?” 

Stiles squinted. “Vaguely…Was that when she came back with that haircut?” He gestured near his ears to demonstrate where her hair had stopped.

Derek grinned and nodded. “She and Erica were playing with my dad’s clippers while Laura was making them lunch and she buzzed most of her hair off, right down the middle of her head. When it looked weird, she realized what she did and cried. Erica tried to fix it…by shaving off the rest.”

Stiles laughed so hard he choked on his own tongue and made a painful squeak noise. “Oh my god!” he gasped. “ _What!_ ” 

“Mom let her stay home as long as she did all her work and listened to Laura.”

“Erica _knows_ about this?! But why didn’t she _say_?”

“Probably because Cora begged her not to say anything.” 

Stiles was still laughing a little as he sorted clothes. “So—so what was _Laura’s_ story?”

Derek lifted his brows. “A favor for a story,” he reminded him.

“I’m aware,” he replied, grinning wickedly. 

His face flushed again. “Okay. Um, Aunts Bree and Tia took us camping when Laura was ten, which I think was because the Pack was afraid the bunker had been compromised, not that they told me that at the time. Anyway, one night, Laura got up to use one of the Port-A-Potties and took a lantern, since it was pitch black in the stalls.” His shoulders shook. “Well, when she came back, she told Aunt Bree how cool it was that the bathrooms had lantern holders.” He started snorting as he tried to contain himself, which made Stiles crack up, so it was a minute before he could compose himself enough to finish the story. “Aunt Bree couldn’t figure out what she meant, so Laura described it to her and apparently Laur was using the urinal to hold her lantern.” 

Stiles couldn’t sit up, he was laughing so hard. He braced his hands against his ribs, gasping. “ _Why haven’t I heard that story before?_ ” He finally sat up, wiping tears from his face. “And Bree and Tia know! How could they keep this from me?” He laughed again, which made _Derek_ start laughing again. He watched Derek laugh and grinned, climbing over the piles of clothes.

“What’re you doing?” he asked, laughter tapering off. A smile lingered around his mouth, eyes bright.

“Cashing in your payment.”

Derek’s brows rose. “Now? Why?”

“You laughing gets me going, sue me.” He licked his lips and climbed into Derek’s lap. “Are you protesting?”

“No.” He stood up, bracing his hands under Stiles’s thighs so he didn’t slip off. He kissed his nose, making him laugh. 

“You know I can probably hold myself up like this, right?”

“I know.” He bit Stiles’s jaw. “Save your strength.”

“Mmm, I like the sound of that. What do you have in mind, sexy?”

“Couple things.” He climbed on the bed, still supporting Stiles’s weight. “I’m sure you’ll catch on.” 

Stiles was still laughing when he dropped on the bed.

 

“I think it’s past dinner time,” Stiles muttered. “Where’re my pants?”

“We’re not going to dinner,” Derek said, affronted. 

“Why?” Stiles leaned over the edge of the bed, looking for at least his boxers. A sharp nip to his ass made him yelp and topple off. 

Derek laughed and sat up looking smug. “You’re not leaving my room with this mess _you_ made.”

Stiles looked around. “It doesn’t look that bad.” That was a complete lie. Derek’s normally-neat room had clothes scattered everywhere; it looked a bit like Stiles’s room, actually. “Fine,” he sighed when Derek remained pointedly quiet. “But we’d better get food when we’re done. I’m gonna starve,” he muttered, crawling over to where he saw his boxers at the foot of the bed. 

“You won’t _starve_ ,” Derek scoffed, rolling off the bed. He found his jeans and tugged them on without looking for his underwear because he wanted Stiles to spontaneously combust. “We just have to finish sorting this, then we can go.” 

“Uh-huh,” Stiles muttered. “Sure. What was that alien cat story?” he asked, licking his lips. He didn’t particularly care anymore, distracted as he was by the thought that he could slip his hands into Derek’s jeans and find bare skin. 

Derek frowned at him. “We have to clean this up first.” 

Stiles sighed. “Fine. But you can still tell me the alien cat story and cash in later.”

He considered, then shrugged. “Alright. Get on your side of the mess, though.”

Grumbling, Stiles went where he was directed. “ _Now_ can you tell me about the alien cat? Or am I still too close to protect your honor?” He grabbed something off his pile at random.

“Okay.” Derek rolled his eyes. “My dad, me, and Mrs. Travers are the only ones who know about this, by the way. My _mom_ doesn’t even know.” He flicked a pair of jeans into the Give Away pile. “So Mrs. Travers called for some help when I was, um, fourteen? Dad volunteered to help her out. She said a cat had gotten in through the compactor, and she couldn’t catch it. She’s human, you know, so…” He smirked and shrugged. “Since he was _expecting_ a cat, I guess that’s an excuse.” He cleared his throat. “Dad called me for back up after a few minutes, and his voice sounded all weird, so I got freaked out and left you, Cora, and Scott in the lab with Peter-”

“Ohh, I remember that day, Scott spilled coffee all over the floor and Peter made us clean it up and then sit organizing files.”

“Right. Anyway, so I went to the trash room and found Dad _stalking_ this thing. He said, and I quote, “Der, it’s an _alien cat._ ” Because it didn’t look like any cat he’d ever seen before.” He snorted and covered his mouth, fighting for composure. “We’re both kind of excited and curious at this point, hunting the thing down, and then we cornered it.” He covered his mouth again. “And, um. Dad’s talking about how—um, how he’s never seen a cat like that before, and it’s got to be an alien or mutated cat. And I had to, um. Tell him that the alien cat was actually a ’possum.” Then he dissolved into laughter and took Stiles with him.

“What? _What?!_ How-?” He gasped. “ _How did he-?_ ’Possum,” he managed, lifting one hand. He lifted the other. “Cat?”

Derek wiped his face, snickering. “I guess he’d never seen one in person before, and he was expecting a cat, so he just…thought it was some sort of weird cat.” 

“Your family, man.” Stiles leaned back, gulping in air and trying to massage the ache from his ribs. “Oh, that’s great.” He sighed. “Okay. Let’s go for broke. What’s _bubbles?_ ”

Derek grinned. “Mom gave everyone working the laundry room the night off one day when I was seventeen and completely flooded the place with bubbles, up to her chest at least. I had to help her clean it up and got sworn to secrecy.”

Stiles had to cover his face in an effort to calm down. He could just _imagine_ the look on Talia’s face, wild-eyed as she tried to contain a flood of bubbles. “Thanks for that,” he said, still grinning. He looked at his pile and held up a black hoodie. “Wow. Did this _ever_ fit you?” he asked. “Looks too slim in the shoulders, too long on the torso and arms.” It’d have been too long to fit him when he was a kid, too small for him as an adult. “Jeeze, look.” He started to pull it on, swinging it around over his shoulders. “Was this Laura’s again or someth-” He stopped, stunned, when Derek ripped the hoodie out of his hands. 

For a long, buzzing moment, they stared at each other, Derek’s face white and sickly, Stiles’s jaw dropped in shock. 

“I—sorry. This is…I’m…” He stared at the hoodie, apparently horrified. 

“What’s wrong?” Stiles asked slowly, confused. 

Derek’s hands flexed around the hoodie. “Nothing. It’s nothing.” He carefully folded it and set it in his Keep pile. 

Stiles’s brow furrowed. “Why are you-?” He stopped himself, because Derek wouldn’t look at him. “Derek, who’s hoodie is it?” 

“No one’s,” he mumbled. “Please let it go.”

It was hard not to press when it was so clearly _someone’s_ hoodie and the strength of Derek’s reaction made Stiles extremely curious. It was hard to keep a secret in such close quarters, and Stiles was sure Derek had never had a messy break-up. Or even a really long term relationship, to be honest.

He sighed. Derek had a right to privacy if he wanted it. Being mature _sucked._ “Okay,” he said with another, longer sigh. “Here, this shirt looks like it’ll still fit.”

Derek didn’t relax until they’d completely finished sorting the clothes. “We can put the keep stuff away later,” he said in a weird, almost nervous tone. He scooped up the Give Away pile. “Thank you for your help.”

“Sure,” Stiles mumbled. He wasn’t pouting. He was mature, dammit. He bent and picked up the clothes too worn or stained to do anyone any good. 

After they finished with the clothes, Derek blurted, “Do you want to go out?”

Stiles frowned. “Where?”

“Anywhere. Just out.” He shrugged. “I thought you might like to leave the bunker, just the two of us.” 

Against his will, a smirk started to curve his mouth. “Just the two of us, after dark? That can’t be safe.” 

“We could go get some drinks.” He grinned back. “We could go see if October’s is still running.”

Stiles scoffed. “That sounds like an exercise in disappointment.”

“She insisted she was going to stay open until the OWH or the government pried the place from her cold dead hands,” Derek said lightly. “And I can guarantee that we’d have heard about it if they did, because October isn’t going to go quietly.”

“Yeah…” Stiles shrugged. “I’ll come with. You can buy me some drinks, see how many it takes to get in my pants.”

Derek snorted. “From past experience, the answer is none.”

“Sir, are you calling me easy?” Stiles demanded, pressing a palm to his chest in mock outrage.

“Nope.” He kissed him quickly, a biting peck of affection. “Just generous and enthusiastic.”

“Sure.” Stiles elbowed him.

They had to leave quickly, so none of their family or friends could offer to tag along or talk them out of going alone. They changed and met at the desk, signing out and leaving hastily. 

“This is such a bad idea,” Stiles laughed, pulling Derek by the hand. “It’s like you want something to happen.” 

“Don’t be dramatic.” Derek sped up and pulled his hand away, instead draping his arm around Stiles’s shoulders. 

“It’s _freezing,_ " Stiles grumbled. “This is all your fault.” He pressed closer, sapping some of that werewolf body heat. 

It was Saturday night, and the sidewalks were surprisingly full, considering the temperature. Stiles had to wonder what the hell was wrong with all those people. Plenty of them were wearing silver cuffs or chokers, but no one really paid attention to them even though they weren’t wearing any visible silver. Everyone had somewhere to be, and quickly, trying to escape the biting cold. 

“Ugh, how far away is it again?” he asked, putting his arm under Derek’s jacket and around his waist. He grinned mischievously and slid his icy cold fingers under the hem of his jeans, making him jump and hiss. “Uh-huh. That’s what you get.”

“It’s not that far away. How are you this delicate?” Derek demanded.

“It’s _cold_.” 

They kept up the goodnatured bickering all the way to October’s, a supernatural bar. It wasn’t exactly a _secret underground_ bar, but they certainly didn’t flaunt their location. Stiles was pretty sure that the easiest way to find it was by scent, since he could never find it without werewolf company.

“Hey!” the guy at the door greeted. He looked vaguely familiar, but Stiles couldn’t place him. “Where’s your sister, Hale?” he asked, and, oh, he used to date Laura for a little while. Very casually. 

“Target practice,” Derek replied, slipping around him and taking Stiles with.

“I’m starving, and I want a burger,” he announced. “If the kitchen is closed, I’m leaving.” 

Derek rolled his eyes and muttered something that sounded like ‘dramatic’ again under his breath, splitting off to the left of the crowd. 

Stiles shrugged and made his way to the bar, excusing himself as he squeezed through groups and couples. He hopped on a bar stool next to a pretty vampire in a heated discussion with, if the subtle glow was any indicator, a faerie. 

“Human?” the bartender asked, squinting. 

“Yep. Can I still order from the kitchen?”

She snorted. “Yeah. Are you getting anything to drink?” she asked pointedly.

Derek leaned up against his back suddenly, resting his chin on his shoulder. “Two whiskies, please,” he said. “Werewolf and human,” he added, turning his head to nip at the edge of Stiles’s jaw.

The faerie laughed at something the vampire said, the sound like a tinkling bell. Her glow brightened somewhat as her face flushed. 

Stiles grinned and turned away. “If you don’t find me food _very soon_ -”

“I already put the order in for your burger, you diva,” Derek sighed. 

Stiles’s shoulders jerked, but Derek remained stationary. “ _What did you call me?_ ” he hissed.

Derek’s chest shook with laughter. “Thanks,” he said when the bartender passed them their glasses. 

“Are you going to stand there all night, or are you going to find a seat?” Stiles asked dryly.

Derek made a low noise and rubbed their cheeks together. “Here’s fine.”

“You’re so weird,” Stiles said, but he turned his head to bite at Derek’s jaw affectionately. He picked up his own cup and drank. He wasn’t really a fan of whisky—more of a beer drinker, or one of those drinks that was all sugar—but it wasn’t too bad.

“Mmm, be right back.” Derek straightened up, kissed the back of Stiles’s neck, and squeezed through a chattering group of kitsune. 

He’d only been gone about a minute when the vampire leaned toward Stiles. “My date wants to know if you and your date want to come home with us,” she said, tucking a blonde strand of hair behind her ear and smiling. She lifted her brows pointedly. 

“I’m flattered, but we’re on curfew, have to get back before sunrise.”

The faerie poked her bottom lip out. “Too bad,” she mouthed, winking at him. 

“Maybe some other time, cutie. Coming, Cy?” she prompted, jumping off her stool.

Stiles figured they’d find someone else if they wanted to, especially with the way the pretty kitsune at a nearby table was eyeing them. 

Derek returned with a large tray of food a few minutes later. “Come on, let’s find a table,” he said.

Stiles scooped up their cups, wincing apologetically at the bartender, and followed him to a booth. He waved at a vampire he bumped into, finally catching up to Derek. “What’d you get, the whole menu?” he laughed.

Derek started setting out plates. “I’m hungry, too. I just don’t complain as much as you do.”

“Oh, haha.” Stiles threw himself into his seat and grabbed a burger. “Mmm, thanks.” He took a big bite.

Derek rolled his eyes and sat down across from him. 

“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” he said brightly, once Derek started eating. “We got invited to what I can only assume would have been a spectacular foursome with a vampire and a faerie.” 

Derek started choking, spraying crumbs all over the table; Stiles lurched forward to shield his food. 

He grinned. “That’s the atmosphere of welcome I’ve come to enjoy at October’s.” He nudged Derek’s glass toward him. “Should I go get you some water?”

Still coughing, his eyes streaming, he shook his head and drank deeply. Then he gasped and cleared his throat. “ _Who?_ ” he growled, narrowing his eyes and looking around the bar.

“Two perfectly nice supernaturals. Stop.” He kicked him lightly under the table. “They invited both of us, dude, no reason to be jealous. They might’ve been inviting us for a game of Scrabble. No one actually _said_ the word foursome.” 

Derek glowered at him.

“Be flattered! They clearly found you attractive.” Stiles snickered when Derek still looked mildly pissed. “Fine, be a cliché, I’ll be flattered for both of us.”

Derek finally relaxed and cracked a smile. “How do you know she was a faerie?”

“Psh, please. She was _glowing._ And her eyes were green.”

“So are mine,” Derek laughed.

“No.” He fanned his hands out around his eyes. “ _All_ green.”

“Ah. Right.”

Stiles went and got them a couple of beers from the bar after he finished his burger, swaying to the music on his way back to the table. “We should dance,” he said, taking a chip from Derek’s plate. 

“Why?” He looked so horrified by the idea that Stiles laughed.

“Because it’s _fun_. Because we went through the trouble of coming out and we’d might as well enjoy it.” He shrugged and sat down to finish his fries. “We don’t have to.”

“We should try to get home before midnight,” Derek hedged, looking nervous.

“Are you afraid to dance?” Stiles asked, leaning across the table. “You called _me_ delicate! C’mon, finish your beer, we’ll get another whisky, and you’ll be good to dance.”

“I don’t really-” he began, looking embarrassed.

“ _Everyone_ looks ridiculous when they dance, Derek. Look.” He used his fingertip to turn Derek’s chin, directing his attention to the dance floor. “Take away the music, turn up the lights. Everyone looks like they’re trying to do the vertical worm. No one cares what you’re doing. Finish your beer,” he said again.

Derek rolled his eyes, but a smile was teasing the edges of his mouth, so Stiles counted that as a win. 

He bounced his leg while he finished his own drink, tapping his fingers along with the music, slowly slouching in his seat as he relaxed. 

“—hunters in the government-”

He jerked upright, nearly spilling a plate of fries into his lap. 

The people in the table behind his seat turned slightly.

“Sorry, but what—what did you-?”

The guy nearest him shook his head. “It was on the news earlier. They’re making it illegal for supernaturals to defend themselves physically in any way. Apparently, _any_ force we use can be considered excessive force.” He scoffed angrily. “So now we’re not legally allowed to stop ourselves from being kidnapped or assaulted.” 

Stiles frowned. “And if someone _does_ use force?”

“They get “arrested”, but they haven’t said where they’re sending the supernaturals who are being detained.” The guy shook his head in disgust and turned back to his table.

Stiles glanced at Derek, who was chewing with an almost comical look of rage on his face. “It’s nothing new,” he mumbled. “There’s just legal support now to what’s already been happening.” 

“Someone by the kitchen was talking about a rumor they heard that the government is trying to claim the Pack is a terrorist group,” Derek said evenly. “You know, with them attacking an innocent research company like the OWH, completely unprovoked, just because they have different political views.”

“That’s bullshit!” Stiles seethed. “ _Different views_ , my ass. Yeah, we’ve got different views—we think-” Derek kicked him lightly under the table, making him flinch. He grimaced. “I mean _they_ , obviously,” he said guiltily. “ _They_ think that people should be treated like _people_ , supernatural or not.” 

Derek made a face, probably annoyed that Stiles almost told the entire bar who they were.

“Sorry,” he muttered. He tilted the beer in his hands, frowning. “I’m usually much better at this,” he said, and made himself laugh. “Did they give me your drink?” he asked in alarm.

“Whisky makes you chatty, I forgot,” Derek said lightly. 

“Ugh, you shouldn’t know that.” He slapped his hand on the table. “Derek, come dance with me before we have to go home.” 

He sighed loudly, but he let Stiles drag him out to the dance floor, _and_ he let Stiles guide his hips until he caught on enough to stay on track while Stiles started dancing, too. It took them a minute to figure out how to move together like this, clothed and not fighting anyone, friendly but not having sex. It was fun, especially when Derek let Stiles grab a fistful of his hair and drag his head back, mouthing at his throat until his hands were squeezing around his hips warningly. The werewolves, vampires, and various others closest to them looked either intrigued, horrified, or _hungry_ , which was, again, flattering.

“Okay, okay, we need to leave now,” Derek gasped when Stiles scraped his teeth over the side of his neck. “Or we’re going to seriously offend some people.”

“Yeah, but even more people want all up on this,” Stiles laughed. He swayed his hips against Derek’s one last time before letting him drag him off the floor, because he could tell Derek was embarrassed. He was nice like that. 

They paid and left a tip for the bartender, who looked reluctantly amused by them, and, stumbling over someone’s displaced coat, they left, spilling into the alley.

Stiles immediately grabbed Derek’s wrist and slid his other hand up his chest.

“No, no, not in an alley, either,” Derek yelped, leaping back.

He laughed at him. “Okay, okay. At home. Promise,” he added, holding a hand out.

Derek took it instantly. “You always used to drive me crazy, dancing at those stupid parties Laura and Cora like to throw.”

Stiles laughed, startled. “What are you talking about? You never went to those parties.” When Derek shot him a meaningful look, he covered his mouth, laughing. “Oh. Right.” Light, misting rain started when they hit the main sidewalk. “Fuck.” He put his arms under Derek’s jacket again. “You get all the benefits,” he complained. “It’s _freezing._ ” 

Derek tipped his head back. “Feels nice to me.”

Stiles pinched the skin of his ribs, making him jerk. “Of course it feels nice to you. You’re like, what? One-oh-three on a good day?”

Derek shrugged, but he looked smug.

“Ugh.” Stiles leaned closer to kiss him, nearly falling when someone bumped his shoulder. “Shit,” he gasped, wrenching himself away from Derek, too late.

Derek blinked, startled, then sneezed explosively as the silver dust blew off Stiles’s jacket into his face. Red welts appeared, and the guys who’d bumped Stiles turned, grabbing Derek by the shoulders and forcing him to his knees while he was still disoriented. 

Stiles yelped when someone grabbed him from behind, lifting him off his feet slightly and grunting in surprise when he was heavier than they were expecting. He used the leverage to kick the guy by Derek’s head under the chin with a sickening _crack_ , sending him stumbling back and falling. He dug his nails into the tender inner wrist of the arms around him, squeezing until, swearing, the guy dropped him to jump away.

He pulled his knife out and rushed the other guy holding Derek down, backing him into the nearest wall. “Who are you?” he snarled, pressing the tip of his knife under his chin. “Who?!” 

“Hunter,” the man sneered back.

Stiles laughed and dug the tip of his knife into his skin, drawing blood and making him whimper. “No, I think you’re a wannabe, which is worse. All the bigotry, none of the training.” He scoffed and stepped back. 

The man laughed. “What, you’re just gonna let me go?” He lurched forward and swung; Stiles caught his arm and wrenched it back as hard as he could. He followed his arm, yelping as he fell to his knees. He was big, but that was clearly it, using his size to make up for lack of skill. He reached back, sweating bullets, and tried to pull his gun.

The crack of his arm breaking over Stiles’s leg was sharp in the night, almost as loud as his scream.

Behind them, Derek let out a wet snarl. 

Stiles let the man slump to the ground, sobbing over his broken arm, and turned to find Derek pinning the man who’d grabbed Stiles in the first place, wiping blood off his face. Stiles leaned over the man’s head. “One of your buddies probably has a broken jaw, or at least a few broken teeth. Broken arm on the other. What would you prefer?” he asked pleasantly. “Ribs or a leg? Or, oh, man, I could go for your fingers.”

The man whimpered, eyes wheeling, until Derek helpfully removed his hand from his mouth. He spat to the side. “This is why we hate your kind, you fucking monsters.”

Stiles smiled widely. “Funny. The only ones who did anything violent here were the humans.” He reached down and flipped open the man’s jacket, pulling out his silver knife and pricking the tip of his own finger. “See? I’m thinking you should keep your mouth shut,” he added, searching his pockets until he found his cell phone. “This way you can still walk your friends to the hospital.” 

The man tried to rear up and headbutt Derek, but Stiles slapped his hand on his forehead and slammed him back down against the cement, leaving him dazed.

“Moron,” he muttered. “C’mon, before one of the other two hobgoblins figures out to call for an ambulance.” He dropped the phone and stomped on it, mostly out of spite, since the other two probably had one each. He kept the knife. One less of those idiots going around armed was always a good thing.

“Doesn’t matter,” the guy rasped once Derek got off him.

Stiles rolled his eyes skyward and gestured at Derek to keep back. “Of course it doesn’t. I kicked your asses.” 

The man laughed. “Doesn’t matter if you and your bitch walk away now, because we’ll have him later.”

Stiles smiled widely. “Do you think so?” he asked softly. He leaned in very close, his nose a scant inch from the man’s. “Do you?”

The man swallowed. “You’ll see. They’ll have all of the mutts soon enough.” He glared at Stiles, but he still looked scared; his breath was still shaking in his chest. “The OWH. They’re going to take care of it.”

Stiles scoffed. “Maybe I should’ve broken _your_ jaw.” He stood again and turned back to Derek. “Come on,” he muttered. “There’s a vending machine outside that Safeway up there, we can get a bottle of water and clean your face.”

“What was he talking about?” Derek slurred. His face was oozing blood from the open sores, mostly on the left, where Stiles had been standing. 

“Not important right now. We have to clean your face. Fuck, Derek,” he said, wincing as he got a closer look at him.

“Not at this moment, please,” he said feebly, making Stiles choke out a laugh. 

After Stiles poured two bottles of water over Derek’s face, dabbing at the sores with his bottommost t-shirt, they found a cheap motel to check into and lay low for a couple hours. 

“Does it still hurt?” Stiles asked anxiously, pacing in front of the bathroom door.

Derek had gone in to wash his face more thoroughly. He pulled the door open. “It’s healing.” Parts of his skin still looked raw and blistered, but nothing was bleeding anymore. 

“Sorry, I’m sorry. I should’ve noticed them sooner.”

“How?” Derek asked, sounding amused. “Besides, you did a pretty good job protecting me.”

He smiled. “Yeah?”

“You broke that guy’s arm.”

“Well, he was trying to shoot us.” 

“I know.” He dropped his hands on Stiles’s shoulders. “Thank you.”

“Just doin’ my job, sir,” he said, making himself laugh. “Come on.” He wrapped his arms around Derek’s waist. “Let’s watch TV while we’re stuck here.”

Stiles didn’t think they’d been followed, but it was still best to wait a bit and make sure. Which meant they actually had to pay attention to their surroundings, listening for disturbances in the hall. An unfortunate waste of the big hotel bed if Stiles ever saw one, but judging by the horrified, disgusted way Derek was eyeing it, he guessed he wasn’t missing much.

 

It was well past midnight when they got back to the bunker; Ally was working the desk, which, at this hour, meant she was playing Solitaire with a deck of cards across the desk and sipping coffee, her hair tied back in a loose ponytail. She jumped when they got to her, eyes widening when she saw Derek’s still-raw face.

“Are you guys okay? Isaac’s been worried but Scott said you guys were fine and-” She looked them over. “Did you have trouble?”

“Yeah, we ran into some jerks with silver dust and had to sit at a motel for a little while, that’s all.” Stiles leaned down to sign them both back in. “Where is Isaac?”

She managed a forced smile. “He said he was going to bed about an hour ago, but I doubt he did.”

“We’ll check his room. Thanks, Ally.”

“Sure. I’m glad you guys are okay.”

Stiles grimaced. “Did anyone else—my dad—?”

“Mr. Stilinski hasn’t come up to check in. I think Scott probably told him you got back a few hours ago,” she said thoughtfully. “To keep him from worrying.”

Stiles frowned. “Thanks,” he mumbled. He glanced at Derek hopefully. “Do you mind?”

“No.” 

John was sleeping when they went to check in on him, confirmed by Derek listening closely at the door before they left to go check on Isaac. 

“Can you hear him?” Stiles whispered.

Derek leaned closer to the door, frowning. “Yeah, he’s…Isaac?” he called suddenly, making Stiles jump. 

“Dude, it’s one in the morning!” he hissed, glancing anxiously at the other doors.

Isaac opened the door, blinking blearily at them. “Oh. Hi.” He swayed in place. “You guys aren’t dead.” 

“Nope. Are you okay?”

He frowned thoughtfully, his eyes blurry and unfocused. “I don’t know,” he said at last. He peered closely at Derek’s face. “What happened?” His voice had gone tight as he recognized the silver burns. 

“Nothing. Have you been drinking?” Derek asked. 

Isaac let out a wild laugh, nearly tipping face first into the hall. “Sure. Used to work for—for my dad when he was stressed.” He blinked at his hands, like he was afraid of them. He lost his balance and nearly toppled forward again, but Stiles caught one arm, Derek the other. He sighed quietly and let them steer him back into his room. 

“Damn,” Stiles said in surprise, catching sight of a mostly empty bottle of Tennessee whiskey. “You can put it away, huh?”

Isaac started laughing, stumbling over his own feet. “S’in my genes,” he said, nuzzling against Stiles’s shoulder. “Thought you guys got taken or killed. People don’t come back,” he told them seriously. “Eventually they all just stop coming back.”

Derek patted his back awkwardly and tipped him into his bed. “You get some sleep, buddy. We’re home now.”

Isaac flailed out when they backed away, catching Stiles’s wrist. “Don’t leave,” he said. He didn’t sound weepy, just resigned and sad, and Stiles couldn’t say no. 

He glanced guiltily at Derek, who shrugged. He smiled. “We’ll stay,” he said, gently prying Isaac’s hand from his wrist. He nudged the bottle with his foot. “How much did you drink, anyway?”

Isaac hummed thoughtfully and burrowed into his pillow. “Dunno. How much is left?” He started snoring immediately after speaking, so Stiles figured the question was rhetorical. 

“Should we turn him on his side or something?” Derek asked.

“Yeah, probably.” Stiles observed Isaac for a moment, frowning. “I don’t think he’ll get sick, but just in case…”

Sleeping-Isaac was surprisingly resistant to being moved, and lashed out as soon as they tried shifting him.

“Ow, fuck,” Stiles gasped when his fist caught him in the mouth. His lip started bleeding. “Oh, perfect. You know, I _destroyed_ three guys on my own tonight, and there’s not a scratch on me, you little bastard. But one skinny drunk busts my lip, how is that fair? Roll _on your side, dammit!_ ” 

Derek was laughing too hard to be of any help, so Stiles finally dug his hands under Isaac, ducking his head to keep from getting hit, and flipped him like a giant pancake, deeply satisfied when he landed on his side.

He licked the cut on his lip and glowered at Derek, who was still catching his breath. “Thanks for the help there.”

“You had it,” he snickered. “Come on, if we’re staying here tonight, we might as well be comfortable.” He crossed to the worn out couch Scott had dragged home from a Goodwill in an effort to make Isaac more at home in his own room. It was moldy-lime green, so Stiles thought it was a lost cause. 

He eyed it. “You think we can both fit on there?” 

“Sure.” Derek took his jacket and shirt off and dropped them beside the couch with his shoes, before he climbed onto it. He stretched out, digging his feet into the end cushion.

“Not gonna take your jeans off?” Stiles asked as he stripped most of his layers off. He kept a sweatshirt, his boxers, and his socks, because Isaac’s room was as cold as Derek’s and there were no spare blankets anywhere. 

“Um. No.” Derek shifted uncomfortably. “I doubt Isaac would appreciate that.”

Stiles tripped over his own shoe in his haste to get to the couch. “Oh my god.” He fell on top of Derek. “How am I supposed to sleep now?” he whined, stretching up to mouth at Derek’s jaw. He slid a hand between them, palm pressing against Derek’s stomach. 

“Don’t do that.” He caught his hand and dragged it up, biting playfully at his fingertips. “We need to sleep. Laura wants us in the gym at noon.”

Stiles dropped his head on Derek’s chest. “Your sister is terrible.”

“She just wants us ready for our next mission.” He kissed the top of his head and made him smile. “Goodnight.”

“’Night,” he mumbled, turning so his cheek rested against Derek’s chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All those stories happened to me or someone in my family in some way or another. The alien cat was my mom in the 90s and I tease her about it as Often as Possible.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THERE'S ONLY ONE CHAPTER LEFT TO POST AFTER THIS AHHHHHHHHHH I can't wait to hear what everyone thinks about it as a whole oh gosh. I'm all over the place. I hope you enjoyyyyy!!! <3 <3 <3

“I think that was our personal best, time-wise,” Stiles said cheerfully while the team fled the OWH building they’d just infiltrated. 

The vampire they’d gone to rescue was heavily sedated, carried between Erica and Derek and bound with wood and silver restraints they’d brought with them. 

“That’s because almost everyone was on the second floor, on the phone with Gerard Argent,” Boyd said. “They’re excited about whatever they did to the vampire you have.”

Stiles scowled, pushing his mask up on his head, pinning his sweaty hair off his face. “ _Why?_ What good is a rabid vampire—er, sorry…” He cringed. 

“Don’t worry about it.” Boyd sounded curious when he said, “This is what Kali Malik was like, too, right? Violent, un-mutated, strong?”

“Yep.” Stiles glanced at the vampire, still unconscious. “I don’t understand their goal.” 

Boyd sighed. “When we figure it out, we’ll let you know.”

“Boyd, where exactly are we meeting the team from Ito’s faction?” Laura asked, pulling the doors of the van open.

Stiles stepped back to let Derek and Erica in first.

Scott was treating Cora, who’d had silver thrown in her face when they were fighting the OWH scientists. 

“You’re meeting in Wyoming,” Boyd said. “Marisol has the coordinates.” 

“Is everyone in?” Marisol called back. “Yes, Boyd, I have them,” she added.

Laura climbed into the front with her. “Yeah, we’re ready.”

Stiles looked at their rescue, rolling on the floor of the van and basically unblemished. Scott had said they were starving him, too, just like that last vampire they’d tried to rescue.

“Laura, are you _sure_ we can’t give him blood?” Scott asked, echoing Stiles’s thoughts. “He’s starving.”

“Yeah, and he _still_ almost overpowered us. I’m sorry. They can feed him at Alpha Ito’s faction.”

Scott scowled and sat back. “How’s your face, Cora? Did you inhale any of it?”

“No, and my face is fine.” She shifted away so he’d stop fussing at her. “Seriously. The sores are clean and healing.”

He sighed and sat back, looking down at the vampire. 

Stiles lifted his hips and pulled his biggest knife out of its sheath, resting it across his knees. He kept his eyes on the vampire when he settled. 

“Why?” Erica asked, nodding at his knife.

Stiles nodded at the vampire in turn. “Don’t trust the sedative.” And because Heather was still locked in Peter’s lab from the last time someone let their guard down around a vampire the OWH had experimented on. 

Derek pulled Stiles’s mask off his head and tucked it between them. “Scott’s going to pass out food in a second,” he said, running his fingers over the tense line of his forearm. 

“I’m not hungry.”

He sighed. “You have to eat anyway.” 

When Scott passed a protein bar to him, he accepted it reluctantly and kept it in his left hand until Derek prodded his side a couple times. He sighed and ripped it open with his teeth, grimacing at the taste. 

“Dude, he’s not going to wake up,” Scott said. “Just eat your dinner. Derek will hold your machete.”

“It’s a knife,” Stiles muttered. He clenched his hand around the handle and used his other hand to eat. “Thanks.”

For the rest of the ride, Cora and Stiles kept an eye on the vampire. He was gratified to find that she and Erica, at least, shared his suspicions, even if they were proven wrong: The vamp stayed unconscious all the way to Wyoming; Scott only had to dose him two more times.

The team from Alpha Ito’s faction met them in the parking lot of a 24-hour Walmart in Anderson Hole, Wyoming. They were in a grey van similar to theirs, parked in the shadows of some decorative trees, a flat tire in the spot next to theirs, as if they’d just finished changing it. 

“Hey, you Hale?” a young man said, jumping out of the van. 

Laura nodded warily. “Dunbar?” she asked cautiously. “Longi’s team?”

He flashed a quick smile. “Yeah. We’re the pick-up team. Sen’s our team leader. Sen,” he said, turning his head.

Sen Longi jumped out of the back of the van, her boots landing with barely a sound, and swept her long, dark hair off her shoulders. “Is he still sedated?”

“Yeah. Scott?”

Scott and Stiles climbed out of the back of the van, where they’d been waiting. “He’s just been sedated again, but he’ll need another dose in two hours,” Scott said clearly. “Did you bring extra tranqs?”

“We have enough to give him a dose every two hours for the next two days.” Sen knocked on the side of her van and brushed her hands over her coat. She twisted her hair up into a ponytail. 

“Good. Do you want us to put him in your van?”

“Sam!” Sen called. “Come help!” 

A woman climbed out to help Scott move the vampire, so Stiles stepped closer to Laura. 

“Is he the first vampire you’ve found like this?” Sen asked, her mouth twisting. 

“No, but he’s the first live one. The rest have either been mutated and alive, or unaltered and dead.”

Dunbar nodded sadly. “We’ve found a lot of kitsune like that lately.”

“Lately they’ve all been unaltered, but dead,” Sen confirmed. “The ones that were alive were rabid and mutated—they nearly killed us.”

“We’ve had the same with vamps and ’wolves,” Laura sighed. “Have you heard if anyone from Santos’s faction has encountered it?”

Sen nodded. “As far as I can tell, nearly all of our rescues are ending like this or with a death.” She shook her head, grimacing deeply. “We haven’t been able to save any. Our scientists are working with Peter Hale, but…” She lifted her shoulders. 

A woman wearing a shayla around her head and shoulders leaned out the window. “Sen, we’re running behind.”

“Sorry, Himma. You can start the van, we’re just about done.”

The woman flashed a tight, nervous smile at Stiles before backing into her seat and starting the van.

Sen looked at them. “Thanks for your help.”

“Sure. We’re glad you guys have space for him. We’re full up,” Laura sighed. 

Sen nodded seriously. “Good luck. Goodbye.” 

Laura sighed and waved while Sen’s team got back in the van. “What are they trying to _do_ to us?” she whispered. 

Stiles shook his head. “I don’t know.” 

“Hey, are either of you wearing your comms?” Erica snapped, sticking her head out of the van. “Boyd’s talking to us.”

“Shit.” Laura fumbled around for her earpiece and Stiles did the same, wincing.

“Can you hear me?”

“Yes.” Laura brushed a hand over her hair.

“Talia wants you to leave immediately, restock your ammo and supplies, and stop in an OWH facility in Utah. They have a kitsune there that is, as of five minutes ago, still alive. Her name is Eren, she’s from Alpha Santos’s faction. We’re not sure why she was taken to Utah. She was doing surveillance out in Arkansas, so no one is sure what happened.”

“Where are we restocking our supplies?” Laura demanded. 

“There’s a Pack liaison in Willow Spring, Wyoming. He can give you ammo and whatever else you need. His name is Chris Amicara. I’ll give Marisol the address. Restock, then go directly to the facility.”

“Wait, wait. Where are we taking the kitsune once we have her?” Stiles blurted. 

“If she’s alive, by the time you’re done, we’ll have a place for her.” Boyd’s voice was tight. “They only just got sight of her, and since you guys are nearby, Talia wants you to get her out of there quickly. She thinks they haven’t had a chance to do anything to her yet, so the faster we get there, the better the chances are of finding her before they harm her.”

“Right. We’re on our way then.” Laura gestured at Stiles to get back in the van. 

He stepped over Erica’s legs and settled between Scott and Derek, watching Laura talk to Marisol.

“We’ve never had to do two in a row before,” Cora said slowly. “Mom’s starting to trust us more.”

Laura hummed but didn’t really answer, climbing into the passenger seat. 

“Have you ever heard of this liaison? Chris something?” Stiles muttered.

Scott shook his head.

“Amicara. It’s probably an alias. He got into the Pack a few years ago,” Boyd said. “He’s not really _in it_ , but he helps supernaturals hideout, supplies our people with ammo and supplies, and helps transport people to the Pack. Don’t know how or why he got involved, but Alpha Santos vouched for him.” He cleared his throat. “He does what the Stilinskis used to do before they retired.”

“What?” Erica asked, tipping her head. “Claudia and John?”

“No, John’s parents,” Laura said. “He lived on the outside as a kid, didn’t he, Stiles?”

“Yep.” Stiles picked at a spot on his pants. “Then he met my mom when he was transporting a family of vampires and…” He held his hands out like he was opening a book. 

“Nice.”

“I’m disconnecting now,” Boyd said. “Unless you have any questions.”

“Nope. Marisol’s got the address, right?”

“Right.” 

“Bye, Boyd,” Erica said in an ultra-sweet voice that made Derek and Scott pause to stare at her.

“Bye.” Boyd’s voice, on the other hand, betrayed nothing, which inexplicably made Erica look pleased. 

“Try to get some sleep, guys. Marisol, if you need a nap break, let someone know.”

“I will. I’m fine for now.” 

Stiles lifted his arm and let Derek settle against his side, resting his head against his shoulder. He smiled and pressed his cheek to the top of Derek’s head. On his other side, Scott curled into a ball and put his head on Stiles’s leg.

Cora whispered, “ _Aw_ ,” before straightening her legs across her bench and leaning her head against Erica’s leg.

Sometime near dawn, Marisol switched places with Stiles so she could get some sleep. Derek took Laura’s place to navigate for a bit. 

“We’re only an hour away now,” he murmured. He glanced over his shoulder to check on everyone in the back, but they remained sleeping. 

“Good. Sucks that it’s taking so long.” Stiles ran a hand over his face and refocused on the road. “Maybe when we go to restock, we can get some food, too. I can’t make it another full day on just protein bars and peanut butter clusters.”

Derek reached out to rub his thigh briskly. “I’m sure you and Marisol can take the van and get something while we get everything ready.” 

“That’ll be a fun trip to the drive-thru. “Give us all the burgers you have, and twenty large orders of fries.”” He smiled when Derek laughed. “We’ll have to just order larges of everything,” he continued thoughtfully. “Couple orders each could do it.” 

“Could,” Derek concurred. 

 

Chris Amicara lived in a two story house surrounded by a large yard. There was a goat grazing on the left side, and a vegetable garden on the right. The nearest neighbor was within sight but several hundred yards away, giving the place an illusion of privacy, at least. 

Laura and Stiles got out first, her because she was the team leader and him because he was human and therefore less likely to be fatally shot. 

The man that stepped out on the front porch had greying blond hair and a short, scruffy beard, tired blue eyes observing them as they crossed the yard. “Can I help you?” he asked.

“Maybe. I’m here on behalf of Guadalupe,” Laura said slowly.

His face relaxed fractionally. “A message for Geronimo?” 

Laura sighed. “Yeah. You’re Mr. Amicara then?”

He nodded. “And you’d be Miss Hale.”

“Right. We were sent to restock.”

“Come on in, get what you need.” 

“My driver and team member here are going to head into town and pick up some food. We’re all running on protein bars,” she added sharply when he shook his head.

“I’ve got food here. You can take what you need. Call me Chris,” he said, turning to open the door.

Laura’s lip twitched, like she wanted to bare her teeth. “Thank you,” she said stiffly. “Stiles, tell everyone to come on. Marisol can pull the van around back, I assume, Chris?”

“Sure. Tell her to follow the driveway.”

Someone must’ve been listening in the van, because Derek, Scott, Cora, and Erica climbed out of the van wearing their Kevlar and weapons, and Marisol drove up, following the gravel around the side of the little house. 

“Come on in. You can eat, then get what you need. It’s bigger than it looks,” he added, catching the face Cora made as they followed him. He led them through a tiny, average living room to a door that Stiles thought led to the garage. “I keep a fully stocked pantry and fridge out here—and cooking appliances—for people who need a place to lay low on the way to a safe house,” he explained, stepping aside.

Stiles went in first, relaxing when he saw a couple high-up windows and another door in the room. If there were other ways out, he couldn’t be planning to lock them in. 

“Where’s the ammo?” Laura asked. “We used mostly smoke bombs last time, but those came straight from the source.”

“I don’t have any of those. Just bullets, first aid, spare blades if you need them. They’re all in the garage so you can load directly into your vehicle.” He nodded at the fridge humming in the corner. “Eat, then we’ll get your supplies restocked.” He stepped back, leaving the door open.

Stiles shrugged and went to the fridge. It was stocked with fully cooked meat, all labelled carefully with Eat Before dates and allergen warnings. However he’d gotten into this, Chris was pretty good at it. Stiles even noticed a second fridge in the corner with a fat red cross on it. 

He wondered how Chris would explain a fridge full of blood to the authorities, should they come knocking, but he assumed the garage full of weapons would be a bigger concern. Maybe. 

Laura wouldn’t eat with them. “Just wrap something up for me,” she’d muttered before leaving to load up the van.

Erica sighed. “I should go with her.” She took her steaming bowl of reheated beef stew when she left.

Marisol joined them soon after Derek and Cora had finished sniff-checking the food for poison, which they then ate quickly and at a big, scarred old wooden table.

“Should we wash the dishes?” Cora wondered, hovering by the sink with her bowl in hand. 

“Rinse and put them in the dishwasher,” Scott suggested. 

The garage was easy enough to find, even without a super nose or ears. They crossed through the tiny living room to the slightly less tiny kitchen, where a door stood open beside a robin’s egg blue refrigerator. 

Laura was examining a long, wickedly curved jeweled knife when they found her.

“That’s a bit more ornate than we usually carry,” Stiles said, amused.

“Knives are a bit of a hobby,” Chris admitted. “I’ve fully stocked your munitions supply. First aid is over in that cabinet if your medic wants to restock that.”

Scott went to the cabinet Chris had indicated; Cora jogged to the van to get his kit for him. 

Stiles put his hands in his pockets and wandered over to where Erica was studying a display case.

“They’re made of silver,” she said when he stopped at her shoulder. “That’s why he has them locked up.” She slid a glance his way, like she didn’t quite believe that. “Laura said we’re leaving as soon as we’re done loading the van.” She jerked her shoulders and walked away.

Stiles looked up at the gleaming silver blades. There were many different sizes, width and length wise, all highly polished and sharp.

“Do you have any?” Chris stood beside him.

“Any what? Silver?” Stiles asked, surprised. “No. Why would I?”

“You’re the only human on this team.”

Stiles kept staring at him for a moment. “Okay, and…?”

“Aren’t you worried? I’ve heard what the Organization is doing to the supernaturals. Turning them rabid, violent. What if they do that to your team? Turns them on you?”

Stiles scowled. “Then I’d find a cure.”

“So you’re a scientist as well as a soldier?”

He stepped back, annoyed. “I’m neither. Whose side are you on?” he snapped.

“Mine,” Chris said simply. “I think you’re all about done, right?” he called, walking away from the case.

Stiles looked at the silver weapons one last time before he walked away, too. He wasn’t sure how he felt about Chris and his silver weapons and his knife hobby.

“Why’d you get into liaising for the Pack?” Erica asked bluntly.

Chris shrugged. “Why are you fighting for them?” 

“For us,” she corrected fiercely. “I fight for us.” 

“Were you born this way, then?” Chris asked politely and Stiles was suddenly, uneasily aware of the fact that for some reason, Chris could tell the born ’wolves from the bittens.

Laura sensed it, too. “That’s enough. Erica, Marisol, front seat. Scott, Cora? Now.” 

Stiles put his hand on Derek’s shoulder and followed him closely, straightening his shoulders and standing as tall as he could manage, trying to block his team from Chris’s piercing gaze.

“The Pack thanks you for your help,” Laura said professionally. “If you need anything, the Pack will do all that they can to help.”

Stiles waited by the door, arms crossed and fingertips just brushing the handles of his knives, unwilling to get in until Laura was in, too. Derek waited just inside the van, perched on the edge of his seat. Though he appeared relaxed, Stiles had seen Derek hurl a knife with perfect accuracy and enough force to shatter bone in target practice on more than one occasion. 

“Could you look at this picture and tell me if you’ve seen this girl?” Chris’s voice was hollow, as if he’d asked a million times and wasn’t expecting much of an answer. 

Laura looked at the photo he was holding out. A frown creased her face. “Your daughter?”

“Yes.”

She shook her head. “Sorry. I don’t recognize her.”

“It’s been ten years,” Chris sighed quietly. “Thank you anyway.”

Laura nodded stiffly and marched to the van, her face set and hard. She made a sharp gesture at Stiles and Derek to get in the van, which they did immediately. 

They were all quiet until Marisol hit the main road.

“Who was the picture of?” Cora asked, staring anxiously at Laura’s face, which still looked harsh. 

She shook herself slightly. “Mom said Ally Anderson joined the Pack nine years ago as a teenage runaway seeking refuge, right?”

Stiles frowned. “Yeah…”

“I think that’s who she was running away from.” She didn’t say anything else, moving up the van until she was crouched between Erica and Marisol’s seats; she thanked Erica in a quiet voice when she passed her some food. 

Scott looked stricken. “Should we have…?” He didn’t look sure of how to finish that sentence.

Stiles shook his head. “He didn’t try anything. Food wasn’t poisoned. I mean, unless he sabotaged the ammunition?”

“I checked it all,” Erica called back. “So did Marisol. We could have missed something, I guess,” she said modestly. “But I doubt it.”

“If he had tried anything, the Pack would have to be notified immediately, so they could sever ties with him and make sure everyone knows not to use him anymore. They check in on all liaisons occasionally, just to be sure they’re not involved with the OWH,” Laura murmured. “It’s a recent thing.”

Stiles frowned at his knees. He felt more unsettled instead of less, but he couldn’t figure out why.

Derek set his hand on Stiles’s knee, squeezing gently. “Why don’t you try to sleep?”

Stiles snorted. “Because my brain hates me?” He shrugged and stroked a fingertip across the back of Derek’s hand. “Something about that guy was really weird.” 

“He works for the Pack—sort of—and he has a bunch of silver weapons in his house, as well as a habit of calling the OWH ‘the Organization’.” Erica ticked things off on her fingers. “He wanted to know why Stiles didn’t carry _silver_ , and he considered me—and probably Scott—separate from Derek, Cora, and Laura because—for _some_ reason—he could tell we were bitten. That’s _weird_.” 

“It _is_ weird. Scott’s been a werewolf since he was a kid,” Cora said, pouncing and rubbing her knuckles over his head. “So how could he tell? And Erica, too, really,” she added belatedly.

“I was fifteen,” Erica sniffed. “I wasn’t a kid.”

“Sure,” Cora snorted, and yelped when Scott twisted and got her into a headlock. 

“Either way, it was weird,” Erica continued. “Not sure I liked him.” 

“We don’t have to like him,” Laura said. “Just use him for supplies.”

Stiles leaned his head on Derek’s shoulder. “Laura?”

“What?”

“Are you going to tell Ally that he’s looking for her?” 

“She already knows someone’s looking for her,” she said absently. “She’s very careful about if and when she leaves the bunker, always goes exactly where she needs to go and comes directly back, never lingers.”

“Most of us don’t,” Scott pointed out.

“She’s human,” Stiles said. His voice came out slightly slurred; Derek was rubbing his thumb in slow circles on the back of his neck, making him sleepy. “Most of us linger a little when we go out, even Isaac.” He yawned and rubbed his cheek against Derek’s shoulder. “She was okay in a group, but that’s probably because she was camouflaged by the rest of us.” 

“True…” Scott snorted. “Go to sleep, man.” 

“Trying.” He turned his face just a little, tucking his nose under the curve of Derek’s jaw.

“Dude,” Cora said with some disgust. “You’ve been around us _way_ too long.” 

“Rude,” Stiles murmured. His eyes were already bobbing shut, helpless to fight it as he succumbed to the exhaustion that’d been pressing insistently at the back of his eyes for hours. He felt Derek kiss the top of his head, still stroking the back of his neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who EVER could that be i can't IMAGINE it's a huge M Y S T E R Y


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeee here's the last chapter!!! I hope you enjoyed and I hope to see you back for the next one, which I'm already working on!!! :D I hope you enjoy, and let me know what you think!!! <3

They arrived at the facility just past midnight, which meant they could go in as soon as they were all geared up and ready.

“Shit,” Marisol hissed. “Hurry up, they’re moving someone out of the building.”

“ _What?_ ” Laura barked. “To where?”

“Big truck. Whoever it is, they’re fighting it.” 

Derek snapped his vest on and shoved a knife in his belt. “We have to be fast.”

“Scott, Cora, you have the tranqs?”

“Yeah.”

“Erica, take Scott and Derek, go out first. Stiles, put your mask on. Maybe we can smoke them.” 

Erica drew her gun, mumbled, “Yee-haw,” and kicked the doors open, jumping out.

Derek and Scott followed her swiftly, while the other three scrambled into their gear.

Stiles fastened his mask and twisted his camera on last. “You guys ready?” 

“Yep.” Laura jumped out first, her eyes gleaming briefly in the dark. 

Cora and Stiles flanked her to the dirt parking lot.

A ton of guards and hunters were struggling to get their muzzled, shackled prisoner across the lot into a large truck, all of them armed, all of them looking surly and stewing for a fight.

A shout went up when Scott and Derek lunged out of the shadows, fangs bared, guns raised, snarling. The prisoner yowled furiously and yanked at her restraints, trying to attack her captors. A gunshot cracked out, making her stumble, blood oozing from her shoulder for a bare second before healing up.

Stiles ran after Laura, firing off two shots into the head of the nearest guard; she collapsed and left him face-to-face with a hunter. They shot nearly at the same time, but Stiles’s aim was better, somehow, and the hunter’s head flew back with the force of the bullet between his eyes. Stiles dodged around the bodies and found Scott hovering around the circle of hunters by the prisoner.

“Too many,” he muttered. “Might miss.” He shook the tranq gun. 

“Kill them,” Laura ordered through the comm. “She’s our priority.” 

A bullet plowed into the dirt at Stiles’s feet, missing his boot by inches. He looked up and decided the only way in was through, and, with Erica and Laura right beside him, dove into the fray. It was confusing and dark and loud, people were shooting and yelling and Stiles could only shoot when his target was directly in front of him for fear of shooting one of his own teammates, and when his gun ran out of bullets, he holstered it and pulled out his knives. 

Yellow smoke billowed out from where Cora had gone, but just as it was spreading, as the hunters were reacting, the sky opened up and rain poured over their heads, turning the lot to mud and the fights got more lethal.

Stiles plunged his blade into a hunter’s throat just as she was taking aim at Laura’s back. He grabbed her gun and used it to shoot two more.

“Fuck.” The curse was a barely audible breath over the comm, but Stiles’s head snapped up. Derek was backing away from a hunter with an assault weapon, hands raised, cornered away from the group.

Stiles ran, leaping over bodies like a sprinter over hurdles, his heart hammering away with a wash of terror he hadn’t felt even in the face of the enemy’s weapons. He sliced open a woman’s arm, then her throat, on his way, skidding in the mud but still running, half-crouched to avoid errant bullets.

Derek didn’t look toward him when he got near, kept his gaze firmly on the hunter, who was talking and half-laughing some nonsense about their victory.

Stiles rose up behind the hunter and thrust his knife into the back of his neck, twisting it sharply and severing his spinal cord in one smooth motion; Derek dove out of the way as the gun went off in the hunter’s hand when he fell. 

Derek snatched the gun up, wiping rain out of his eyes. “Thanks.”

“She’s down,” Scott said breathlessly before Stiles could answer. “But now we have to get her back out— _shit_ ,” he yelped. 

Stiles swore and ran, furious at himself for even taking a moment to slow down. Freezing rain slid under the collar of his shirt, matted his hair to his head and the edges of his goggles as he raced back to the thick of the fight. He nearly tripped over Erica, who was on the ground digging bullets out of her thigh.

“Just go,” she snarled, throwing her head back with a roar of pain as she pulled one loose.

A guard took aim at her head while she was distracted, swearing when Stiles lunged forward and grabbed the muzzle of her gun, forcing it down. He punched her, grimly satisfied when he felt her nose break on impact. She slammed her knee up and against his thigh, likely missing her true target by inches. He slammed his elbow up against her jaw and let her fall into the mud, moving to the next hunter in his fight to the center.

Laura screamed with either rage or pain, Stiles couldn’t tell, and Cora, gasping, reported that she’d been shot and couldn’t reach the bullet.

Stiles grabbed a hunter by the hair and pulled his head back, exposing his throat, and cut with one vicious swipe. He stepped over the body and ducked, nearly slipping when someone tried to punch him. He grabbed the wrist attached to the fist and twisted until the guard dropped his gun; he kicked his ankle out from under him, sending him to his knees. He stabbed him in the throat and left him there, squinting through the sheets of icy rain pouring over his head. He could see Scott now, protecting the unconscious kitsune with a knife handle sticking out of the back of his shoulder. 

Before he could make it more than a yard, someone grabbed his left wrist from behind and yanked it savagely behind his back.

“Get on your knees!” she yelled.

“Fuck off!” he gasped, throwing his weight forward.

She yanked harder on his arm, making him cry out as his shoulder pulled. She kicked the bend of one of his knees, just enough that he slipped. He started struggling, and then she was pulling harder and his shoulder felt like it was sliding and then _pop!_

He jerked hard enough that she lost her balance, falling with a splash as he sweated bullets. “ _Motherfucker!_ ” He pulled his big knife out of its sheath and stabbed it into her calf before she could scramble to her feet.

She screamed and backhanded him across the face. The force sent him sprawling, taking the knife with him.

Two shots rang out, killing her before he had to fight.

“Der, think my shoulder’s dislocated,” he said through his teeth. He felt weird and off balance, and a little like if he stood up, he was going to be sick.

“Scott,” Derek called, bracing his hand against Stiles’s good shoulder to keep him still.

“I can’t help right now. Keep your arm in and still, Stiles, I can reduce it in the van.”

“Scott, grab the kitsune and run. Now. Derek, cover him. Cora, get Stiles,” Laura ordered.

There were still hunters and guards, shouting and shooting, but Cora managed to get to Stiles by the time he’d gotten to his feet. She was clutching her shoulder, which was dripping blood. 

“I’m fine.” His arm felt limp and loose and _wrong_ , making his stomach pitch uneasily. He pressed it against his side as well as he could. 

She slapped a gun in his good hand. “Lead the way. I’ll watch your six.”

He tucked away the feeling and blew out a slow breath before lifting Cora’s gun and leading the way through the mess. 

They made it to the van just after Scott and Derek, and before Laura and Erica. 

“Get in!” Laura ordered when they made it. “Marisol, turn on the light back here, draw down the divider.”

“You got it.” The light came on in the back and, over the sound of the divider unfurling, five voices shouted in alarm at once. 

“In! Now!” Laura snarled. “We’ll deal with it on the road.” Her face was covered in blood, but Stiles couldn’t tell where it was coming from. 

Derek had already pulled the knife out of Scott’s shoulder, so he was moving better than the rest of them. Derek scooped Stiles up, making him yelp, and deposited him in the van, then went back for Erica, then Cora. 

“Drive, Marisol, we’re fine,” Laura grunted, climbing into the van herself.

“Driving.”

Scott went for Cora’s shoulder first, digging the silver bullet out of the wound with his claws. “Derek, move the kitsune to the bench, Stiles, lay supine on the floor,” he ordered while extracting the bullet. 

“Supine. Look at you being all official.” Stiles laid on his back on the floor, cringing when his arm shifted. He angled his head back and looked at Laura, who had her hand covering her left eye. “Where’d you get hit?” he asked sharply, sitting up and falling right back over. 

“Lay down, Stiles,” Scott ordered again. “I need more hands, including yours. Derek, take Stiles’s wrist. Cora, don’t move,” he added, finally pulling the bullet out and making her yelp.

Scott walked Derek through putting Stiles’s shoulder back where it belonged. When it clicked back in place, he yipped in surprise. 

“When we get home, you’ll have to wear a sling. For now, hold gauze to Cora’s wound, please. Derek, get the bullet out of Erica’s leg.” Scott turned to Laura. “Move your hand.”

She shook her head, keeping her hand pressed tight against her face. 

Scott grabbed her wrist and yanked it away in one firm, if impatient, move, and swore ripely. “Laura!” he admonished. 

Stiles looked and recoiled; a gouge had been blown open on the side of her face, probably where she’d been grazed by a bullet. 

“A half inch to the right and you’d have lost your eye.” Scott started pulling things out of his belt. “A head wound, Laura,” he seethed. 

Stiles turned back to Cora, fumbling to open the gauze packet.

“It should heal soon,” she mumbled, but she sighed in relief when he pressed the gauze to the hole in her shoulder.

“Fuck you, Derek!” Erica gasped, stamping her foot. 

Derek triumphantly held up a silver bullet.

When Laura’s wound was covered, Scott moved back to Cora, taping gauze over her slowly-healing wound. Stiles scooted back on the bench to give him space, but he’d already moved on to Erica’s leg, ripping the hole in her pants wider so he could clean the area. 

“Scott,” Stiles said sharply. “Your shoulder is still bleeding.” 

“I’m almost done.” He didn’t look up from Erica’s wound.

Stiles grabbed Scott’s kit and dug around until he found some peroxide, but Derek shook his head and held up a wolfsbane-ash tablet, nodding at Scott’s wound. Stiles leaned in and pulled at the hole in his shirt, moving it aside so he could see the black poison lines spreading from the injury. 

Scott wasn’t paying them any attention, focusing with glassy-eyed determination on Erica’s leg, which was healing under his hand.

Derek poured the ash into the wound, holding it there with his palm while Scott went rigid with pain, digging claws deep into the bench next to Erica in an effort to ground himself.

When he finally relaxed, Stiles pressed gauze to the wound so it’d be covered while it healed. 

“Thanks,” he gasped, leaning his forehead against Erica’s shoulder. “Is everyone patched up?” He sat up and wiped sweat off his face.

“Yep.”

Scott glanced back at Stiles and frowned. “I have an ACE bandage in my bag that we can use to make a sling.” He turned to his bag and started digging.

“It doesn’t really hurt.”

“Not yet,” he said darkly. “Derek, can you help me with this?”

“Is everyone still alive?” Marisol called anxiously.

“Yes!” Laura replied. “Scott, do you have any wipes in there?”

“Here.” Erica passed her a rag and a bottle of water to clean her face. 

Stiles stayed as still as he could, only moving when Scott told him to, until they’d successfully pinned his arm to his torso. 

“Okay. Try not to move it too much.” He tried to get up and move to Cora, but Derek pushed him back down.

“She’s fine. You sit.” He pulled a bottle of water out from under the bench. “Drink.”

Stiles helped Cora maneuver the kitsune onto the floor so she could stretch out on the bench.

“I’m gonna go sit up with Marisol,” he said, rubbing the back of his head.

“I can,” Laura insisted, trying to stand. She lost her balance and sprawled across Erica’s lap.

“Your _face_ , Laura,” Scott chastised. “Your peripheral vision is obscured in your left eye for now. Sit down and let it heal.” 

Stiles stepped around the kitsune and flopped into the front seat. “We can turn the light off back there now.”

“Sure.” She hit the button, plunging them into darkness. “Maybe they’ll get some sleep back there.”

“Can we stop at a drive through soon? They need food to heal,” he said quietly.

“Sure. I’ll need gas soon anyway.” 

By four am, Scott had to give the kitsune another tranquilizer. Marisol went through a 24-hour drive through and ordered enough food to make the cashier weep. After promising she could wait, the cashier seemed to calm down and got to work. 

It was creeping toward dawn when she found a gas station. “Just sit and eat while I fuel,” Marisol insisted. “Even you!” 

“Why?” Stiles asked, scowling. His shoulder was sore, he was tired and heading toward bad-tempered, and her coddling was getting on his nerves. 

“Because all of you look like you survived a horror movie. Just stay put, eat.”

Stiles looked back at the others. 

Cora’s shoulder was mostly healed—enough that she’d taken the gauze off—and Erica’s leg was all pinky and shiny with scars; Laura’s bandage was still on, covering her left eye and cheek. Everyone had bloodstains all over their clothes, their skin, their boots.

“How’s your arm?” Derek asked, sitting between the front seats.

“Sore,” he mumbled. “How’s your food?”

He held up his burger, offering, so Stiles smiled and took a bite. While he chewed, Derek reached around and curled his fingers around his left wrist. Slowly but surely the pain ebbed. 

He sighed. “Thanks.” 

“You’re welcome. Do you want to sit in the back a while?”

He shook his head. “No, I’m fine up here. I wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway, so I might as well keep Marisol company.” 

Derek shrugged. “If that’s what you want. Laura’s connecting to the bunker now to let them know we have the kitsune.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Not sure what we’re going to _do_ with her. Peter just doesn’t have any more space.” 

“He’ll have to put her in Lydia’s lab or the infirmary or something.” 

“Probably.” Derek sighed.

“What d’you mean, bring her?” Laura shouted. “There’s no room—that’s why we went to _Wyoming_ with the vampire!”

“I’m gonna go calm her down. Her injury is making her bad tempered.” He kissed Stiles’s cheek and maneuvered his way back.

Marisol climbed back in after a few minutes, complaining about the smell of the gasoline.

“We’re taking the kitsune to our bunker,” Laura announced. “They’re just going to have to make room for her.” 

“Great. Now take a nap,” Marisol suggested.

Laura grumbled, but she didn’t actively argue, so she obviously needed that nap.

Stiles looked out his window as they pulled out onto the highway, sighing. He could only imagine how long he was going to be grounded with this stupid shoulder.

“What’s that noise?” Cora mumbled.

“The radio.”

“Liar,” Erica said.

Marisol glanced at Stiles anxiously. “It’s nothing. Just stay back there until we pass, okay?”

“Is it another protest?” Scott asked quietly. 

Stiles turned to look ahead. 

A large group of people were standing with their backs to a house visible from the highway, surrounding it and facing a line of what looked like uniformed police officers. None of them were holding signs for once, and many of them were standing shoulder-to-shoulder, forming a wall in front of the house.

“I…don’t know,” Stiles admitted. “I don’t know what they’re doing.” 

“Whatever they’re doing, they’re keeping the police occupied, which is good, since you all look like you just slaughtered an entire football team.” Marisol accelerated smoothly up beside a semi-truck, blocking the view of the shouting crowd.

“Sounds like they’re protecting whoever’s in the house,” Laura commented. 

“Probably someone they’re trying to charge for crimes against a supernatural,” Marisol muttered. “You hear about that a lot on talk shows,” she said, gesturing at the radio. “People will find some ass who’ll get charged for getting caught actually hurting a supernatural, and they’ll kick up such a fuss that they won’t bother charging the person.”

“Gross,” Cora mumbled.

Stiles tried to see the people in the side mirror, but all he could see was a purple VW bug with a small white dog climbing on the dashboard, much to the apparent alarm of the passenger. 

“That’s why we do this,” Marisol said firmly. “To put an end to this crap.” 

 

It was midday when they got back to the bunker, and the garage was full of people taking care of the various vans and SUVs and gathering up gear that needed repairing or cleaning. 

Peter was there waiting with a gurney, with Vivian and Adam. “Just put her on here,” he said when Derek opened the doors. He looked at Scott. “How long has it been since you last tranquilized her?”

“About an hour,” he reported. 

Stiles looked at Marisol. “How long do you think we have until we have to report to Talia?”

She smiled grimly. “Probably about twenty minutes. I’m gonna run to the bathroom before she calls us.”

“You _always_ have to go when we get back,” he laughed. 

“Public bathrooms are gross, so I use them as little as possible,” she said primly. She climbed out of her seat and darted off, leaving Stiles snickering at her.

He jumped out, too, rounding the van to help the others get out, but progress was stalled because Peter insisted on checking Laura’s eye before anyone went anywhere. 

“You aren’t a doctor, Uncle Peter,” she muttered. 

“No, but even I know your eye needs attention. Go to the infirmary, make sure to let them know you’re having trouble seeing out of that one.”

“It’ll heal-” 

“With the help of magic and medicine, yes,” he said agreeably. “Don’t put up a fuss, Laura, I’m too busy to walk you to the infirmary again.” He kissed her forehead absently and wheeled the gurney away, Vivian and Adam trailing in his wake. 

“Again?” Laura repeated dazedly. “The last time he walked me to the infirmary, I was seven.” 

Stiles laughed, rubbing the back of his head. 

“We should all go to the infirmary,” Scott said. “Just so we can all get checked over. Except maybe Derek, since he’s not hurt.” 

“That’s probably a good idea,” Erica said, using Derek’s shoulder to lever herself out of the van. “My leg feels like one good twist and it’s going to fall off.” 

“That’s because you got shot three times in the same area,” Scott supplied helpfully.

Erica mimicked him in a falsetto, squeezing Derek’s arm until her nails dug into his skin. 

Before anything else could be said, Marisol burst back into the garage, her eyes enormous in her paled face. Stiles felt a little guilty for thinking _Now what?_

“There’s something—something’s happening. Talia is having Danny broadcast the news in the rec rooms,” she gasped. “It doesn’t look good.”

 

Talia, Ian, and John were in Rec Room A; Melissa, Ally, and Isaac arrived at the same time that Stiles and the team limped in. Melissa turned to Laura immediately to check out her eye. Vivian and Adam followed and announced that Peter was dealing with Eren, the kitsune, so they could watch. 

“What’s going on?” Stiles asked, looking at his father.

John shook his head. “I’m not sure.” He did a double take when he noticed Stiles’s arm in a sling, his face paling, but Stiles shook his head quickly. 

“I’m fine,” he mouthed, lifting that arm to prove it. 

Derek moved up to Stiles’s left side, Cora to his right, and Scott stood on her right. The room was full, like it normally was after lunch hours, and there were some kids and teenagers scattered throughout, which was probably a bad idea. 

The _Prime News_ action music played from the large TV they were all staring at after a minute, a grim-looking anchorman flickering into view after the opening credits. “We’re here to share some emergency footage we’ve received from an interview with OWH co-founder Gerard Argent and his daughter, Kate Argent. The government,” the anchor’s mouth twisted here, “has urged all stations to air this footage, to keep our citizens updated. I haven’t seen it yet myself, but viewer discretion is advised.” He looked sickened, just before it cut to the video.

“We’re not trying to take away human rights,” Gerard Argent was saying. He was outside in broad daylight, with a smirk tucked in the corner of his mouth. “But the thing is, we wouldn’t let tigers or lions walk down the street, so I don’t see why anyone would oppose this.”

“Maybe because these tigers and lions are actually _people_ ,” the reporter interviewing him said. “They aren’t wild animals.”

Gerard held up a finger. “Just because the animals sometimes wear human faces doesn’t make them safe.” 

“They have rights-”

“ _Humans_ have rights,” Gerard corrected. “Monsters don’t.”

“They are not mon-”

Gerard smirked outright then, as if the reporter had finally said what he wanted her to. “Oh, no? Let me show you something.”

Kate Argent stepped into the frame then, smiling sadly. 

The reporter and cameraperson turned, following them to a semi-truck parked by the curb. 

“We caught these ones before they could hurt anyone,” Kate said sweetly.

Stiles felt like he might be sick.

“You only see what they want you to see,” she went on. “But the truth is, those human-like faces are just a ruse to disguise what they really are. They’re dangerous, and they need to be contained.” The video caught a brief flash of her smug smile before moving to the semi-truck.

Shocked cries filled the room, followed quickly by shushing.

The truck was separated into cages, housing five werewolves, three vampires, and four kitsune. They were all raging, frothing at the mouth, teeth snapping, and they looked…normal. They looked as human as Talia, as Derek and Cora and Ian, except their glowing eyes and sharp teeth, except the vacant look in their eyes.

“Is –is that the Halman pack?” Cora choked out, when the camera closed in on the werewolves. 

Stiles gasped; it _was_ the Halman pack, the small family pack that’d gone missing from their bunker months ago. Their daughter, eight-years-old, snarled and slammed into the bars of her cage, snapping her fangs loudly and trying to squeeze through the spaces. She swiped at the air with clawed fingers, yowling.

The video turned back to the Prime News anchor, whose dark skin had a pallor. He shuffled papers on his desk. “In—in light of this and further…evidence of supernaturals being a threat to society…” He grimaced. “The National Guard* has been employed. They, with the help of the OW-” He scowled briefly, and nodded at whoever was prompting him off-screen. “From the Organization for the Welfare of Humankind…They—they will be gathering supernaturals and taking them to designated-” He cut off again, face paling further. “I apologize to our viewers,” he said stiffly, and cleared his throat. “The National Guard and the OWH will be rounding up our supernatural citizens,” he said defiantly, “and taking them to designated safe _towns_ , where they will be separate from the human population.” He looked sick and continued in a raw voice, “They will—are you kidding me?—They will also be _tagged for our safety._ ” He stood up and walked away, and the video cut out briefly. 

Stiles let out a slow, pained breath, suddenly understanding the crowd and the police on the highway.

Video returned almost immediately, with a woman sitting in his place. “I apologize, my co-anchor found himself unable to finish this emergency report. We’ve just received confirmation…The raids to remove supernaturals are beginning immediately.” Her eyes went steely. “We urge you all to be safe. We are being prompted to advise our supernatural viewers to cooperate, because they have permission to use lethal force if they must.” She tipped her head. “We have video footage coming in of the first of what is sure to be many raids.” 

The video switched over to a street view, zoomed in as close as it could clearly go. People in uniforms and bullet proof vests were kicking in doors, dragging werewolves and vampires out of their homes, shackled in silver. 

Distressed cries rose in the room as they watched a werewolf trying to protect his children get shot, then, when that didn’t stop him, beaten with a silver nightstick. No one shushed them this time.

Derek turned his face away as they shackled the kids and Stiles couldn’t—he lifted his arm, unraveling the sling, and Derek curled into his side, hiding his face against his neck. Cora let out a gasping sob and pressed into his other side, her fingers digging into his back.

Stiles kept watching. He stroked Derek’s hair and squeezed Cora’s shoulders and he watched. He owed it to them. It was too fast, he thought. This must’ve been ready and waiting for months. They’d just needed to get the experiment right, needed to make the supernaturals look normal, unaltered, to convince the human public that this was the right choice. Humans still outnumbered them and they were still _killing_ them and now they were rounding them up and tagging them like cattle. 

“Stiles, you have to calm down,” Scott whispered. He’d squeezed into the hug from Cora’s side, leaning in to offer comfort. “Your heart is _pounding_ , you’re going to pass out.”

He shook his head and looked back at the screen, his eyes dry and burning. He wanted to get his hands around Kate Argent’s neck and _squeeze._

Derek let out a soft, whimpery noise when someone on the screen yelped in pain; Stiles kissed the back of his head.

Talia turned the volume down. “Listen to me,” she said loudly. 

Derek squeezed his arms around Stiles’s waist and turned just his head so he could see her; Cora didn’t look up.

“Take care of yourselves tonight,” she said firmly, once she had the attention of the room. “This has been a terrible blow. The human government has sided with our adversary due to false proof and pseudoscience. That sucks.”

Dry laughter fluttered through the room, people moving to wipe their faces finally, shifting so they could straighten up and listen to her better, see her face.

“Tomorrow, we’re going to get up, brush ourselves off, and get back to it. Things are going to change.” She nodded, casting her gaze over the room. “We’re going to fight. We’re going to be safe and we’re going to fight. We’re going to protect each other. Our human friends,” she said, cutting a glance at John and Stiles and Melissa, “are going to help us.”

“Of course we are,” Melissa said fiercely.

Isaac nodded, though he looked pale and scared.

“I’m going to have Danny keep the news on in here. We need to know what’s going on. However, rooms B and C will not have the news after tonight. We all need a place to go without having to hear about all the terrible things, I know.” She looked over the children in the room, the ones old enough to be scared but not old enough to help, and the ones too young to understand the tension they sensed. “We’re going to fight,” she repeated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know some of your questions aren't answered! This was meant to be just one very long fic, but I thought it read better split up! I guess if you read the next one, you can tell me!! I hope you enjoyed it!


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